Barbara
by Bryana
Summary: Follows the timeline of Barbara Gordon, from her first meeting with Batman through the arc of all the Batman "Arkham" games. May be slow to update, this is just a fun story of mine! Follows the Arkham universe, with some influence from the comics. *Reviews inspire me to write.* Expect some romance, action, family-feel goods, and empowering awesomeness.
1. The System is Broken

The system is broken. It's failed us.

I remember being a young girl. When cops were tailing us, watching our home. We slept in stilted, short periods. I slept with a police radio beside my bed, tuned to a channel known to be frequented by corrupt cops. It was them, outside my windows at night. I could see their faces, slightly illuminated by their burning cigarettes as they breathed in the toxins.

Dad would come home with bruises, and he wouldn't tell why. But I knew why. While dad was trying to save the world, his partners were making a fast buck letting criminals slip through the cracks. Terrorists ran Gotham. Our city was a joke to the rest of the world; it was where you went to die, or at best to create a name for yourself as one of them. Villains would come to this city like wannabe actors would go to Los Angeles; most didn't have what it took, but they managed to do damage just the same. Every so often, one would come along that would make it feel like the sky was falling.

Penguin. He was bad.

Black Mask. Schools closed for a few days under his reign of terror.

Harvey Dent. Or Two Face, if you prefer. He was hard to get over. Especially for dad.

It was when these supers started showing up that Batman came through for us. I remember the days when dad and I would fight, scream about Batman: was he a hero, or a criminal? The best of them or the worst of them? It took a long time for my dad to be a believer- but, then again, he always had a lot of reasons not to believe.

The first time I saw him, I knew. I was vulnerable. Alone, in that police station with countless corrupt cops that wanted my dad dead and gone. And he walked in, spoke kindly to me, let me speak to him… he was a good man. I asked him then why he did what he did… why he fought for a Gotham that seemed to want him even less than it wanted decent men like my dad.

"Because I made a promise," he'd said. He didn't say more than that, thanks to the cops that smoke bombed us, but I knew what it meant. It was a promise to all of us, to this city.

I idolized him after that. For years, my dad and I had the same arguments over and over again. It wasn't until Batman saved his life personally that he started to hear me. And it wasn't until the masquerade ball that Batman saw he could trust me, the way I trusted him.

"Does it have to be that mask?" Dad asked me as I closed the door to my room, my costume extra warm in our small apartment.

"It's too late to find anything new now," I shrugged.

"You know, I'm the one who gets to catch hell for that," he groaned, finishing off one of his stinky, cheap cigars.

"Well then, I guess you should be glad I'm bringing work," I said, slinging my backpack with my laptop and gear over my shoulder. "I'll find some corner of the place and work. You don't need to be embarrassed."

"It's not…" he stammered, "it's just that, as commissioner, I can't be seen to support him. That's the job."

"Well, you're not wearing the bat-suit," I smiled, "I am. Besides, it's so cheap and homemade, no one will take it seriously."

We left in a car that the Wayne foundation had sent to pick us up. It was a gala, meant to celebrate all the successes my dad had achieved over the course of the year. They were successes that were all, at least in part, owed to Batman. But no one would admit that. It was too easy to pretend he was a villain, too.

I did the obligatory smiles and handshakes. The kind waves. It was when the kindly old butler, Alfred, approached my father to ask if he needed anything that I slipped away, slinking off into a quiet corridor of the elegant mansion to find somewhere to work.

I had retreated quite a ways into the mansion before the roar of the party had faded to a dull murmur. I opened my laptop and got to work on trying to figure out the Wayne wifi password.

He had a guest network, but no way was I working on that. I wasn't planning on doing anything too heavy tonight, but I did want to continue my research on the recent appearances of a new masked vigilante in Bludhaven. He was spry and acrobatic, and I'd noticed too easily that this new guy had emerged just as Robin stopped appearing alongside Batman. I wondered if Batman was training people to fight his good fight in other neighborhoods. Could this new guy be Robin, just moving on to the next job? If so, he must have left a trail, right? A recent move to Bludhaven, probably a new employee in a security firm or law firm or maybe the police department?

Admittedly, my fascination was fueled partially by my crush on the boy-wonder. It was a stupid, embarrassing crush; comparable to having a crush on a Jonas brother. But I always got giddy and excited when I saw his image flash across a screen.

The wifi was not going to be hacked easily. As I dug into the system protecting the Wayne mansion, I slowed my roll. Sure, I would be able to decrypt everything between here and there, but why the hell did this rich boy have 15 layers of encrypted walls between me and it? What was he so intent on protecting? As I punched through the barriers, it all became clear…

Frequent searches in criminal databases, from GCPD all the way to FBI and CIA, populated the network history. Without much prodding, I found schematics for a car with a booster on it akin to one you could find on a rocket. There were floor plans to almost every municipal and private corporation zoned within Gotham city, including major banks, hospitals, and GCPD headquarters. But the schematics I found for a "bat cave" were most impressive, with access codes and entry points- one of which should have been in the room with me, if I was reading the maps right. I punched in a code to the access point and a cool burst of air shot at me as a door disguised as a bookcase opened.

I quickly put my backpack on and carried the laptop with me as I approached the bookcase. Could this really be happening? Was Bruce Wayne, the erratic, famous bachelor, notorious playboy really the Batman?

The corridor was dark, even with my laptop lighting the way. But I stepped inside and closed the bookcase behind me. Bright lights shot up around me, leading me to a small enclosure. I stepped inside and a gate closed behind me automatically. It was an elevator, and it dropped me down several stories very quickly; so fast, that my hair blew up behind me and the fake cape I wore caught the breeze and whipped up beneath my backpack.

When the elevator came to a stop, I stepped out slowly into the cavern as lights sprang on. A giant computer set up was to my right, with 6 giant screens and a dashboard control panel that wrapped around a comfortable chair. It was a dream. Beside it, the legendary Bat Mobile sat poised for launch in front of a road leading out of a dark tunnel through the caves. The Bat Wing hung in a corner of the cave, and I couldn't help but notice the hundreds of live bats hanging in the cave. I worked through Wayne's network to disable the alarms and sensors he had in place, then moved closer to the giant computer display. I tapped the space bar and the screens sprang into lively color. News monitors played on most of the screens, though I couldn't help but notice a facial analysis running on The Joker from one of his terrorizing videos he'd released last year. Footage of the new Bludhaven vigilante, aptly named 'Nightwing,' was running on one of the monitors. I smiled; it confirmed that I was right. Whoever this Nightwing was seemed of serious interest to Batman. To Bruce Wayne.

"You know," I heard behind me. I jumped and turned around to see Bruce Wayne, wearing a debonair suit, standing directly behind me. But he wasn't wearing his playful smile you always saw in the interviews with Vicki Vale, nor did he have that kind smile he wore at charity rallies. In this moment, he seemed every inch of the terrifying Batman that criminals of our city cowered before. "The party was meant to be upstairs."

"I'm sorry," I stammered, not knowing what else to say. "I… shouldn't have come down here, I know…"

"How did you get down here?" he asked. I noticed he was speaking in his own voice, not the growling, gravely tone he spoke in while in his suit. It wasn't the voice he'd spoken to me in years ago, when I was just a girl in the GCPD server room.

"I bypassed your encrypted walls… found your schematics… your access and security codes," I explained honestly. He nodded and stepped past me, reaching the monitors and darkening some of their screens.

"You've learned a lot," he nodded, "since the last time I saw you." I smiled. He remembered me. "I'm impressed."

"Then let me help you," I boldly suggested after mustering the courage. He looked back down at me, and I couldn't tell if he was surprised or simply satisfied. "I can make your systems stronger. Better. And I have training, I can fight." He seemed to hesitate at the final phrase. "I want to fight."

"You shouldn't fight because you want to," he said, looking up at the screens again. "We fight because we have to."

"And someone has to, right?" I asked. "Besides," I turned to the side, following his gaze up to the screen with Nightwing and daring to take a guess, "you just lost a partner, didn't you?" He stared back at me a long moment, studying me and reading me, before he smiled.


	2. Just Like That

"Just your firewalls and encryptions weren't enough," I explained as I leaned forward over the keyboard, studying the coding I typed in to the screen. "We need to get more infrastructure in place. Touch pads, retinal scanners, voice identification…"

"Will that work, with how I alter my voice? And, not to burst your bubble, but I wear gloves," Bruce argued as he stood behind me, his arms crossed as he watched me code. I smiled, but didn't break away from the screen.

"How you change your voice doesn't matter. A good voice recognition software can ID your voice if you spoke through a modulator inside a paper bag," I smiled, finally turning back to him. "And put sensors in your gloves. It's not that hard."

"Fair enough," he responded. I heard footsteps behind him and turned in my seat to see Alfred approaching, a tray in his hands.

"Miss Gordon, don't forget to key in my specifications for these new technologies," he said as he neared us. "I access these technologies just as frequently as Master Bruce, and don't want the security going off when he's out pulverizing Gotham's finest." I smiled as he lowered the tray, a glass of lemonade offered to me.

"Of course, Alfred," I smiled as I lifted the glass to take a sip. "Do you always call him 'Master?'" Bruce shrugged with a laugh at Alfred, who shared a familiar glance with him before turning back to face me.

"I find it's a fonder name than many others I could call him," he cheerily replied. I nearly choked on my lemonade as I laughed.

"Alfred raised me since I was a kid. He can call me whatever he wants," he said with a smile to his friend. "I'm lucky he goes easy on me." I downed half of my lemonade and turned back to the computer.

"Where do you get all this hardware from?" I asked. "There's some hardcore stuff down here."

"Luckily, I have some friends at Wayne Enterprises," he said. I shook my head.

"That was a dumb question," I scolded myself as I completed my coding.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," Bruce said. "We have a lot we can talk through." As I entered the final bit of coding, I spun around in the chair.

"Just like that, huh?" I asked. He smiled.

"Just like that," he said, draining his lemonade and putting the glass down. "I've worked with your father a long time, Barbara. He's a good man."

"One of the few," I nodded.

"Are you sure you want to do this? Putting yourself out there, doing what I do… it puts a lot at risk," he said. I nodded somberly for a moment.

"My whole life, my dad put his fight above his safety. Our safety… sometimes," I said, reflecting on what I was trying to say. "It's a fight worth fighting. Even if it risks everything." Bruce studied my eyes and nodded back slowly. I wasn't sure if his silence was indicative of a lack of faith, as if I didn't know what I was risking, or if he was proud my sentiments mirrored his own. "I want to help you, Bruce. I've been wanting to help Batman for years."

"I'll want to start putting you in some training sessions soon," he said, turning and waving for Alfred to come closer. I stood, eager and excited. "I need to establish your baseline, figure out what you have yet to learn."

"I'm ready," I answered confidently.

"Alfred's going to get your measurements," he said as his butler started to move my limbs out of his way to measure my waist and hips, then leg length and inseam.

"For what?"

"You don't think I'd send you out there in that Halloween costume you wore the other night, do you?" he asked with characteristic Bruce Wayne charm. I laughed quietly and couldn't help but feel giddy at the thought of having a Bat-suit, but I kept my excitement to myself. A low rumble jarred my attention.

"You hear that?" I asked him quietly. But Alfred didn't seem bothered and kept gathering my measurements.

"Yes," Bruce answered, turning and walking back towards the landing pad for the Batmobile. "This should be fun." Before I could ask what he meant, the rumble turned louder and a black and blue motorcycle zipped onto the pad. It was Nightwing. He'd worn no helmet, and his jet black hair looked tousled from the motorcycle ride, but in a way that almost looked intentional. His blue eyes were piercing, even from so far away. As he dismounted his bike, he shrugged his shoulders at Bruce.

"How do you always know when I'll be showing up?" he laughed. "Not keeping tabs on me, are you?"

"Should I be?" Bruce answered in his more characteristic Batman voice.

"That sounds more like the Bruce I'm used to," he shook his head. As he did, his eyes caught my gaze. He locked eyes with me and continued to whisper to Bruce in a hushed tone.

"She's joining me," Bruce said, turning away from Nightwing and moving back up the ramp towards Alfred and me. Alfred began measuring my shoulders and arms.

"Well hold it, when did this happen?" he caught up to Bruce and waved his hand haltingly. "She's smart, I'll give her that, but she doesn't fight, does she?"

"Why don't you find out for yourself," I loudly suggested. He looked past Bruce at me, his eyes again locking with mine. I wondered if my eyes were anywhere near as blue as his. He smiled and let loose a short chuckle. He strode past Bruce with a cocky demeanor that matched all the footage and pictures I'd seen of him.

"That a dare?" he asked. Was it a flirt? I did all I could to keep my cheeks from flushing red.

"A challenge. Maybe," I responded. He smiled as he stopped in front of me, smirking.

"She's not ready, Dick," Bruce called over. Nightwing's eyes doubled in size as he whirled around to face Bruce.

"The hell, Bruce?" he snapped. "We have code names for a reason, don't we?"

"She's on our side," Bruce said, turning back to a computer near a centrifuge.

"Honestly, I just thought Bruce was making a character judgment," I joked. Dick turned back to me with a smug smile.

"Alright, Miss Gordon," he smiled and grabbed my hand. "Dick Grayson. Nightwing." He shook my hand, and I answered his shake with matched enthusiasm. He leaned in close to me and whispered, "no telling." I clenched my jaw to keep my cheeks from turning red.

"Master Grayson, could you fetch my notebook from the tray?" Alfred asked as stretched the tape measure down my spine. Dick let go of my hand and retrieved the notebook. I felt Alfred drop the tape measure behind me. I twisted to bend down for it, but felt Dick's hand on my back as I reached the floor, and his other hand grabbed up the tape measure before I could.

"Why don't you let me do that, Alfred?" he asked, his eyes focused on mine rather than Alfred's. "You can write down the measurements, I'll take them." I held my gaze on his, thought I felt my skin crawling with nerves.

"I'm certain Miss Gordon would…"

"It's fine," I interrupted him. I turned back to Alfred and gave a calm shrug. "He's harmless. And if he pushes any buttons, I'll push his twice as hard." Alfred smiled at me and traded places with Dick. I watched as Alfred jotted down notes in his book and listened keenly as Dick finagled with the tangled tape measure.

"So, Miss Gordon," Dick started, wrapping the tape measure around the top of my forehead like a laurel crown. "How did you figure old Brucey out? 57 centimeters on the hat size, Alfred." Alfred jotted the note down as the tape measure fell in front of my eyes and was pulled tightly. "53 on the mask size."

"Get her side, will you?" Alfred asked. Dick moved around to my side and lifted my arm. He placed one tip of the tape in my armpit, and I fidgeted briefly before regaining control.

"Ticklish, huh?" he whispered and smiled down at me as he stretched the tape to my hip.

"I was at the masquerade the other night," I evaded, answering his previous question. "Decrypted his network and found him out." He laughed a little as he moved behind me and lifted my other arm.

"So, you break into his Batcave and he gives you a job, just like that?" Dick asked, his hands wrapping familiarly around me and the tape measure stretching around my waist. "31 inches on the waist, and 20 on the side."

"To be fair, I volunteered," I answered. Before I knew it, the tape measure was shimmying up over my chest.

"36 on the bust," Dick called out. I watched as Alfred and Bruce both looked up at me and Dick, and it was harder than ever not to blush. "C, I'm guessing?" he said quietly, just for me to hear. Instead of blushing, I smiled.

"You haven't pulled it tight yet," I said over my shoulder. He chuckled back at me, and the tape measure tightened over my thin, cotton shirt.

"My bad… 34," he corrected himself.

"Alfred, did you need a cup size?" I asked.

"No, Miss Gordon, I do not," he shook his head in slight embarrassment as he returned to his measurements.

"Then I guess you'll never know," I quietly answered Dick. The tape measure dropped briefly, then I felt Dick's hand brush around my neck. His hands were rough but I didn't shy from them. He wrapped the tape measure around my neck and it tightened in place; not tight, but a tenuous pressure all the same.

"Never say never," he softly whispered at me. I did my best to control my breathing and stay calm, despite my raised heart rate. "12 inches on the neck, Alfred." He moved around me and tossed the tape measure into the air. I caught it quickly and pulled it close, hoping I wasn't blushing. He smiled smugly at me and I stared him down, refusing to be the one to break eye contact.

"Bruce, why don't I hit the gym with her?" Dick offered. He turned back to me with a smile. "See how much she can handle?"

"Not today," Bruce answered. "I'm running diagnostics on her tomorrow. If you want to be her spotter, I won't stop you. But she might." He raised his eyebrows at me.

"Sure," I answered politely. "He can be my water boy."


	3. It's a Date

Bruce's tests were tough. Everything was done to failure. I could only manage four 'muscle-ups,' lifting my entire body over the pull up bar, until I failed. But I made it to 106 pushups before I truly failed. I ran nine miles at varying intensities and inclines until I failed. I lost count of the crunches I did, but I remember briefly feeling like I couldn't breath when I'd finally laid down and stopped.

The augmented reality trainings were the trickiest. They were programmed by a friend of Bruce's at Wayne Enterprises, Lucius Fox, to adapt to my skills and abilities. So, while the first round of holograms were easily subdued with a few well timed punches, the fourth round had me doing round house kicks higher than I'd ever managed previously; the seventh round had me dodging blades and bullets; the eleventh round did me in with skilled swordsmen I could only describe as ninjas.

"Simulation failed," I heard a computerized voice judge me as the holograms disappeared and I leaned over my knees. A door opened into the room and Bruce emerged.

"Ninjas?" I panted out. "How often… do you come against… ninjas?"

"You'd be surprised," he smiled. "You did well."

"Well enough?" I asked. He nodded.

"You've got more to learn," he said.

"Nothing her water boy can't show her," Dick called. He emerged from the door behind Bruce and threw a water bottle at me. I stood up and caught it, squeezing it and allowing the water to shoot down my throat. I felt like death. Could I ask for Alfred to install a camelback or other water pouch in my Batsuit? "You've put her through the ringer enough for one day, haven't you Bruce?"

"We're done for the day," Bruce said, and the room reacted. The walls dulled in their brightness and the room faded back to normal lighting. "You should get some rest."

"No, I'm fine," I reassured him. "What's next?"

"Barbara, today was designed to push you to your body's limits," Bruce said solemnly to me. "If you have more to give, you've missed the point." I laughed a little under my breath. I supposed working more wasn't going to happen. "Come back in two days. Alfred will analyze your movements and we'll start training you then." Bruce turned and started for the exit to the room.

"Great," Dick called out happily as Bruce left, then turned back to me, "that makes you free tonight, right?" I laughed, and tried to formulate an excuse, but he stopped me. "I thought you were fine?" I smiled reservedly. I supposed there was no getting out of it.

"What did you have in mind?" I asked.

We took his motorcycle out. It wasn't the Nightcycle, as he had so lovingly dubbed his caped alter ego's bike, but his own. It was a run-down Ducati, possibly older than me, but it worked all the same. Something about it matched him: I didn't know if I could trust it, and knew I probably shouldn't, yet I did all the same. I held my hands on his hips during the ride. While I thought about wrapping my arms around his waist, or even letting my hands explore his thighs as we rode, I knew it was a bad idea. I wanted this partnership with Bruce to last, and Dick seemed to be my fastest way to lose Bruce's trust. I knew I'd have to keep that in check.

"Good Goods?" I'd asked from the back of his bike at an intersection, when he told me where we were going.

"It's a cop hotspot. Especially for some of the less 'good' cops in Bludhaven," he explained.

"Oh. Great," I laughed as we sped south through Jersey, out of Gotham. When we arrived, we parked outside of the run-down joint and he allowed me off his bike first. "You know, I don't typically ride motorcycles without a helmet." He dismounted his bike and turned back to me.

"Why make an exception this time?" he asked me. I tried to think of one quickly, but all that came to mind was how cute he was, how charming he sounded, and how his rough palm felt against my neck the day before. I closed my lips and exhaled.

"It won't happen again," I promised. He smiled and suppressed a giggle and tapped his finger against my nose.

"Come on, first round's on me," he said, turning away and leading me into the bar. I followed, exhaling and calming myself. Alcohol was only going to turn me on to him more. I wouldn't let myself have more than one drink. I couldn't. Just in case.

Inside the bar, no one looked like they were of particular interest. A few off-duty cops talked loudly in the corner, and a man slumped over the bar in a drunken stupor, but no one attracted attention as a suspect.

"Casing the joint already, huh?" Dick asked as he led me to the bar. I smiled, a bit embarrassed. "Look, be cool, okay? It's just a drink. And if it turns out to be more than that, lucky me." I tried my damnedest not to smile, but the corners of my lips rose anyways. He sat down on a barstool and patted the seat beside him.

"What do you want?" the grisly female bartender asked us.

"She will have a vodka cranberry, and I will have a whiskey neat," Dick said.

"Change mine to whiskey neat, please," I insisted to the woman. "Rye, if you have it." She nodded and winked back at me, and I smiled graciously in return.

"Trying to keep up with me, huh?" Dick asked. I smiled smugly.

"It doesn't take much," I answered. I brushed the hair back behind my ear and watched the bartender free-pour our drinks into water stained glasses. I could feel Dick's eyes on me as I looked ahead, but I didn't turn to face him. There was something very tense in this moment, like there was a danger I was courting. The bartender put the glasses down in front of us and smiled in a cheeky way as she retreated, as if she didn't want to interrupt whatever we were doing.

"To your first day," Dick said as he lifted his glass in front of him. I held mine up in response. "Let me know when you get your hands full." He clinked his glass against mine and sipped, but I waited. He lowered the glass from his lips and turned smugly to me with a provoking smile.

"I'll let you know," I answered sardonically, and kept my eyes on his as I raised my glass and took a long sip. He laughed a little and wiped his mouth, his fingers tracing his lower lip as I lowered my glass, swirling it before placing it back down on the counter.

"Tell me, Barb," he said. A surge of energy shot through my gut and chest as he said Barb, a nickname that even my father rarely used. "What did you want to be when you grew up? When you were little?" I swirled the whiskey in my glass as I looked back at some of the dirty cops lining the room.

"A detective," I answered honestly. He nodded knowingly.

"Like your dad," he said. I took a moment, but shook my head.

"Not exactly," I answered. His brow furrowed. "Dad… trusts the system. At the end of the day, he has faith that the guys he catches will answer for their crimes." At that, Dick smiled.

"And you don't?" he clarified. I opened my mouth to answer, but discovered I had no rebuttal to give. I picked up my glass and took another sip. He laughed a little under his breath.

"What about you?" I asked instead, pushing my hair back over my shoulder as I looked at him. "You always wanted to be… what you've become?" I asked quietly. He picked up his glass with a smile.

"As long as I can remember, yeah," he said. "Some version of it, at least."

"Why did you leave?" I asked. He took a longer sip than I'd expected, clearly to stall for another moment. It was a question I'd been curious about ever since Robin had stopped appearing alongside Batman months ago. Why would he leave Batman, if he didn't need to? Especially if he was just going to assume another mantel other than Robin? He put down his glass and let out a satisfied sigh as he smiled down at the drink, then turned to smile up at me.

"You know," he said, "I think that is a story for another drink. You can buy that round." I smiled to myself and grabbed my glass, fingering the ridges on the sides as we sat quietly. Dick suddenly downed the rest of his glass and pulled his wallet out of his back jeans pocket. "Come on," he said, throwing down a twenty for the drinks. He quickly stood and I got up and followed, confused at why we were leaving in such a hurry. Two cops were staggering out ahead of us and slurring their words. I couldn't make out much of what they were saying, but Dick seemed to care regardless. There was something at play here.

As we arrived at the door, one of the cops turned around and caught my eye. I didn't look away evasively but allowed my gaze to meet his for a moment and forced a quick smile. He grabbed his friend's sleeve and yanked him back. "Ladies first," he insisted. I could smell the gin on him, and his mischievous smile was enough to set me off. But I smiled meekly and innocently brushed the hair behind my ear as I stepped ahead of Dick and out the door first.

"Appreciate the thought, officers," Dick kindly acknowledged the men as we left. I walked straight to the bike as I heard the footsteps of the cops heading in the opposite direction. I stepped aside and let Dick mount the bike, kicking the engine to life.

"Why are we following them?" I asked quietly. He looked up at me, a bit surprised I had caught on so quickly. He smiled cutely, that sideways smile that made me feel warm when I saw it.

"Tell you on the way," he said, looking over his shoulder at the seat behind him. I climbed on back, knowing I should question riding on the bike with him after he'd had a whiskey but staying quiet.

"So this is your version of the night turning into 'something more,' huh?" I asked. He let out a cute laugh under his breath. I leaned forward over his shoulder as I watched the two police get in a police car parked down the curb from us. Dick maneuvered us out of the parking spot as they began to drive off, their car swaying from side to side in their lane. We followed closely, but let distance gradually grow between us as the city traffic picked up. We were heading back to Gotham.

"I've been seeing a few green question marks in Bludhaven," he shouted back to me over the roar of the engine. "They hide pretty well with the other graffiti, but they're there- and they're becoming more and more frequent."

"Riddler," I acknowledged.

"Nigma's notorious for blackmailing and bribing dirty cops into helping him out. Question is, why's he heading to Bludhaven?" he said as the bike slowed to a stop at a red light. The cop car flicked on it's lights and ran the red light, turning them off again as soon as they were through. "Damn it," Dick grumbled, and the bike darted to the side. I clenched my legs tight around his thighs as we slunk between the rows of cars. "Hang on," he shouted, revving the bike faster and weaving to the right as traffic began to emerge from the left. I slumped forward so my chest clung around his back, my arms latching around his abs. We made it through the intersection with only a few horns blaring at us, and the car we were tailing didn't seem to notice.

"I thought Nigma was in custody?" I called to him. He laughed in response.

"Yeah, long story. You ever hear of the Suicide Squad?" he asked.

"No?" I answered, wanting to know more.

"Yeah, you'll have to buy the next round so I can tell that story," he said as we watched the car turn a corner.

"It's sounding like I'm going to have to buy a few rounds," I said. I saw him briefly smile over his shoulder as we approached the light.

"Guess we'll be spending a lot of time together, huh?" he said. I couldn't help but smile, but I hoped he couldn't tell.

"You think these cops are working with Nigma?" I asked.

"I know they are," he answered. "I'm just waiting to see if they'll take me back to him." We tailed them until they parked in front of The Oblivion Bar in Chinatown. But Dick sped past the place.

"Where are you going?" I asked, turning over my shoulder to catch another glance before it disappeared.

"We were just casing… no roughhousing tonight," he said as he turned a corner towards the bridge to Miagani Island.

"But if that's where they're colluding, shouldn't we…"

"We're in street clothes, Barb," he smirked. "I've almost had my identity blown before. I'll tell you what, it's not a smart move." I didn't protest anymore, but I wanted to. I stored away the information in the back of my mind, wanting to return as soon as I could. "This is my fight. You'll stay out of it."

"If that's what you wanted, why'd you bring me with you tonight?" I asked after a long pause.

"I was just hoping to get to know you a little better," he flirted. But I wasn't in the mood. I let my grip loosen around him and I sat back on the bike, hoping he got the message. He turned towards the bridge to go to Gotham mainland and was quiet a long moment. "I'm the only partner he's ever had," he said, almost too quiet for me to hear him. "Besides Alfred, that is. I don't regret leaving. But I need to know you can handle the shit. Because it will be shit." I reflected on that a long moment.

"I can," I called up. He didn't answer a long time.

"We'll see," he responded. He pulled up in front of my dad's apartment and turned off the bike, allowing me to dismount.

"You checked me out," I said, stepping onto the curb. He didn't answer, but he got off the bike with a confused smile on his face. "You know where I live." I let out a small laugh of understanding.

"Yes," he answered. "I… checked you out." He stepped closer, looking up and down the sidewalk for people he didn't want overseeing. "I'm going to keep checking you out, too," he smiled, and I knew he meant the double meaning. I broke eye contact and smiled to myself.

"I'm game, when you want to help train me," I said. He nodded smugly.

"It's a date," he said. He reached up to my face in a way that was all too familiar and intimate, and brushed a strand of my hair behind my ear. I was preparing myself for what to do if he tried to kiss me, but he instead winked and turned away. He mounted his bike and revved the engine as I turned away and went inside the main door to the apartment. I allowed myself to stall at the bottom of the stairs, letting out a sigh of tension and relief. I hurried up the steps, the stairwell lousy with the noises of what was going on in other apartments. I heard the screaming argument of the couple in 2A and wondered if I'd soon have the mask to do something about when he hit his wife. When I reached our apartment, I took the key out of my jacket pocket and went inside, locking it again behind me.

"Barbara," I heard Dad say from the kitchen. I smiled in at him.

"Hi dad."

"Where have you been all night?" he asked, eating a microwave dinner at the counter. I dropped my keys in the bowl by the door and pulled the jacket off my arms.

"I had a date."


	4. Hopeless

"Ready?" Bruce asked me as I walked back into the augmented reality chamber. The floor was soft under my bare feet; it would still hurt to hit the mat, but it had a little spring in the floor to prevent from broken cheek bones. I hoped nothing got that intense today.

"Ready," I answered, checking the tape on my knuckles. I was as ready as I was going to be. I looked up to a camera in the corner of the room. I knew Dick was watching me on the monitors in the Bat Cave, but I shook my head and looked away from the camera; he didn't have to know I was thinking of him. I wasn't thinking of him. I needed to focus on the simulations. Today would be some of my greatest trials. Bruce would stay in the AR chamber with me and coach me through fights. I needed to prove my mettle today.

"Alfred, initiate phase one. Let them progress as she completes them. No breaks," Bruce called. The lights dimmed and one burley but unarmed attacker appeared in front of me.

"Just one, Bruce?" I asked as I sunk into my fighting stance.

"We're focusing on technique today," he said, his arms at his side as he watched. "Dispatch him. Don't kill him, but ensure he won't get up again." I nodded, my eyes meeting the AR figure. "Begin."

As soon as he said it, the AR man rushed me. He reared his fist back and I raised my arm, blocking his strike with an interlocking forearm and countering with a jab. His weight shifted to his back leg, and I brought my right arm against his collarbone and pushed as my calf wrapped around his, sweeping the leg out from under him. He crashed down to the ground and I pivoted on the ball of my foot, raising my opposite heel in the air as high as I could and dropping an axe kick on his head. He wasn't getting up after that.

The AR figure dissolved. Another appeared, but this one was holding a baseball bat. He rushed me and I attempted the exact same move, but this time grabbed his bat with my left hand as the right arm pushed him to the ground. I saw no need to alter my finishing move once he was disarmed and on the ground, so I axe kicked him and his figure dissolved.

Now three attackers appeared, two with bats and one unarmed. I let out a breath as I sunk back into fighting stance. I lunged towards the first man with a weapon and delivered a swift heel of my palm to his nose, hooking under his elbow with my other arm and turning him around. I pushed him towards the unarmed man and the two fell to the ground, giving me a temporary moment to deal with the other armed man. As the short swing of the bat came at me, I blocked it with my forearm then let my arm slide down to grasp it in my palm. I pushed the heel of my right hand against his elbow, causing a break in the arm that dropped the bat. I reared the bat around my head and struck him with the neck of the bat in the head, knocking him down as I dropped the bat. The other two men were back on their feet. I ran at one and threw my weight against him in a kick that landed squarely on his chest, propelling me into the air. I raised my knee and it hit the other man square in the jaw, dropping him to the ground. I landed over him, bent over his body, and turned to look for the third body. He didn't get up. The figures dissolved away. None reappeared.

"You fight well," Bruce noted as he stepped casually towards me, "but inefficiently. See if you are able to expend less energy in dispatching them. Use their body weight to propel you."

"Okay," I panted out. The same three men rematerialized in front of me. I let out a quick burst of breath as I waited for them to approach me. The first ran at me with his bat, but I leaned forward towards his opposite shoulder and pushed, turning him in a dazed circle, as the unarmed man came forward with arms outstretched to grab me. I allowed him to, and rolled down onto my back, flipping him over me using his momentum. I rolled back over top of him, my knees straddled over his abdomen, and used the momentum of the roll to lift his head off the ground just a bit before slamming it back to the floor. One down. The second armed man was approaching quickly, and I turned on my left knee, getting my right foot below me, as I punched his stomach. He keeled over, but still held his bat, until I thrust upwards, grabbing his shoulders to aid in my standing, and knocked his head with my knee. He and the bat dropped to the floor. The first man returned with his bat and swung at me, a swing harder than I was comfortable with blocking on my forearm. I dodged, moving backwards as I sucked in a breath. But there was a pause in his attack that felt palpable. I raised my arm and casually punched him square in the nose as my other hand grabbed his bat from his hand, breaking it in two over my knee. I finished him off with a front kick to his abdomen that knocked him back and down. They dissolved and it ended.

"Better," Bruce nodded. I let out a breath.

"Wish I had this kind of practice room at home," I laughed, "beats the folks at the community center."

"I want you in here as often as you can," Bruce nodded. "If I'm not around, have Alfred let you in. I don't want you out on the streets until I know you can handle it."

"I can handle it," I nodded as I panted. He eyed me skeptically, but I held his gaze.

"Alfred," he finally called, "skip to phase 8."

"Are you sure?" Alfred called over a speaker.

"She can handle it," Bruce answered with a smile. I smiled as I settled back down into my fighting stance. Three armored men appeared, all with knives. This round would be a little trickier…

As the first came at me, I grabbed his wrist before he could slice down at me and put him in an arm bar, then raised my knee to break the elbow. I threw him aside on the ground and prepared as the next charged me. I blocked his knife slice with my left forearm and hooked my right fist into his stomach, then grabbed his knife holding wrist and pressed it back until it snapped. The knife fell out of his hands and he dropped to the floor. One left. He charged me and sliced down left, across, then up right; I dodged each in turn, and when the knife was high again, I grabbed the arm holding the dagger and pulled his wrist back towards me, his elbow buckling and breaking. I swept my ankle around his and dropped him to the ground, and axe kicked him in the head for good measure. I looked back to Bruce to see his impression. He nodded with a curt smile.

"You shouldn't have given that last one a chance at cutting you," he noted. I stood up straight and nodded.

"I'll get better," I assured him. He nodded back, scanning me. The lights came on in the room in full. The simulations were over.

"Use their weight against them. And I've seen how high you can kick; you don't use it enough in combat," he said as he turned to go.

"Anything else?" I asked.

"Use your body more," an answer came, but it wasn't from Bruce. Dick hurried into the room in sweatpants and a tight black shirt, wrapping his wrists hurriedly. As he passed Bruce, he gave a playful smile. Bruce stopped in his tracks and watched Dick approach me.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"You fight with your extremities," he explained. "An arm blocks, a leg kicks, a fist punches… a couple times in there, you used your whole body to disarm someone or pin them. Not only does that make you better, but when you do it it'll stun your opponents."

"Stun them?" I asked as he checked his wrist wrappings and reached me. His black hair hung over his forehead as he looked at me with icy blue eyes.

"A chick like you straddling them? They'll be hopeless," he explained quietly. I felt my cheeks flush red as I looked past him to Bruce. He didn't say a thing; he just watched Dick and I. Maybe to see how I'd handle him hectoring me? Or to see if I'd flirt back?

"I think they'll be pretty hopeless regardless," I said, pushing past his shoulder and walking towards Bruce.

"Try it," he suggested behind me. I stopped and slowly turned back to him. "Try it on me," he smiled flirtatiously.

"You're not serious," I shook my head.

"Think I can't handle it?" he asked. I rolled my eyes and turned away, trying to formulate an excuse. "Or are you afraid you can't?" I met his eyes again and his smile turned from flirtatious to mischievous. I couldn't help but smile back. I lowered into a fighting stance, and he pivoted back, preparing for me. "I'm going to try to punch you. You will jump onto me, wrap your legs around me, and force me to the ground for a takedown." I sucked in a breath, and he started rushing towards me. I ran at him and leapt, my legs around him. My momentum and weight hit the top half of his body. I heard the air leave his lungs as he fell backwards, and I landed softly on my toes with my elbow cocked to punch as he slammed onto his back. "Good," he said, regaining his breath quickly and seeming a little too happy. I stood and stepped away from him. "Again," he insisted.

"You sure?" I asked as he stood. "That didn't look to comfy for you."

"Don't worry about me," he smiled. "You should be worried about you."

"I'm not worried," I smiled back. He ran at me again and I tried the same move, but this time his body weight turned as my legs wrapped around him and the momentum carried us to the floor. This time, though, it was my back that slammed into the ground. I let loose a grunt of discomfort as I felt his knees collect under him.

"From here, I can grab your shoulders and slam you into the ground again," he panted out. "If you'd been a bit faster, you could have rolled me over you…"

"That so?" I panted out, ready to prove myself.

"Yeah, but now you're pretty…" Before he could finish his thought, I pressed my hips up and to the right, rolling him to his side as I threw my weight over him. But he sensed my movement and we rolled again. I knew I wouldn't get to stay on top of him in this position and maintain control, so on the final roll I unhooked my left ankle from his back and slid off him into a low lunge. He rushed into a low lunge off the floor and met my eyes. For a brief moment, we each considered laughing and stopping the fight then. But we knew that wasn't going to happen. We sprang upwards and I thrust a kick up at his face, but he caught my ankle and held it at his shoulder level, thinking it would destabilize me. He was wrong. I punched him in the stomach and he keeled forward just enough for me to launch myself onto his shoulders, which forced him down to his knees. I pushed myself off his back and pushed his shoulders forward towards the floor. As I flipped back onto my feet, he flipped forward onto his. He smiled mischievously at me, this time waiting for my approach. I ran at him, preparing for him to block a typical punch or kick. I jabbed left, but brought my right hand forward to grab his arm. He anticipated my arm bar, though, and not only blocked my jab but grabbed my wrists and crossed my arms in front of my chest. I pushed outward, dispelling the lock and pushing away, but he came in on me again with a roundhouse kick. I blocked the kick and grabbed his ankle, pulling towards me. The split didn't seem to bother him, and he used the nearer position to grab my waist and pull me to the ground with him. I rolled onto my side and elbowed him in the side as I did so, but he reached over his torso to grab my shoulders, keeping me in a vulnerable position. I realized resisting the grab was pointless, so I planted my wrists at my side and flipped backwards in a somersault over him, landing low at his side as rolled into a plank position. I launched myself forward towards him, rolling him back onto his back and straddling him with my knees planted at his sides and my hands holding his arms down.

He didn't resist. He looked up at me with serious eyes, his black hair sweaty as it dangled over his brow and he panted up at me. "See?" he breathed out. "Hopeless." I laughed a little under my breath, but was very conscious of Bruce's presence in the room. I looked up to see him watching us. He nodded thoughtfully.

"Get in here as often as you can, Barbara," he shouted. I sat up and watched him turn his back and leave.

"I will," I answered as the door closed behind him. I sat there a moment, hoping he wasn't too disappointed in my performance.

"Not to disrupt your thoughts or anything," Dick said, drawing my attention back to the fact that I was sitting on top of him in a fairly suggestive position, "but I am much more of a top."

"Not from where I'm sitting," I said with a curt smile. Something about him was magnetic. I knew I shouldn't be teasing and flirting with him, but it felt impossible not to. I stood and reached my hand down to help him up. He smiled at the gesture and laughed a little under his breath. "Fine," I said, turning and starting to walk away. But he grabbed my hand at the last moment and pulled himself up, forcing me to counter my own weight being pulled down. I staggered closer to him in the moment and caught myself by placing a hand on his chest. He stood tall in front of me, and our bodies were so close we could kiss. His cool breath hit my cheeks, cooling my sweat. The beads of sweat on his face seemed to amplify how blue his eyes were.

"You're getting there," he smiled at me. "Just need a little more practice."

"And I'm sure you think you're the one to teach me," I suggested. He shrugged slightly, his eyes scanning down my body quickly before returning to meet my gaze.

"I'm always up to roll around on the floor with you. Just call," he laughed. I chuckled slightly and pressed away from his chest as I turned to go. But he held onto my hand. I'd almost forgotten he was holding it. I turned back to face him as his grip softened and his fingers clasped around my palm. He had a slight smirk that he tried to hide. "Wanna get a drink tonight?" I blushed and turned away a moment, smiling to myself. I turned back and met his eyes again, those icy blue eyes that cooled me off in an instant. I smiled widely.

"Oh, Dick," I answered, my fingers tightening around his hand, "you really are hopeless." I laughed to myself and turned away, pulling back my hand and heading for the door.

"You owe me a few rounds, remember?" he called after me in a confident tone. I smiled to myself as I reached the door.

"I don't owe you anything," I laughed over my shoulder as I left the room. I could almost hear him smiling as the door closed behind me.


	5. Briefing

"Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Gordon?" Alfred offered me as I sat in one of Bruce's large desk chairs.

"No thank you, Alfred," I answered with a smile.

"Or a sweater? I'm afraid it gets quite cold down here, even in the summer," he said. I tried to contain a laugh.

"I'm alright Alfred, but thank you," I smiled. He raised his eyebrows doubtfully and moved away as Bruce stood in front of his monitors.

"Okay," Bruce said aloud as my eyes scanned the monitors. A picture of Two Face, a newspaper heading about Black Mask, a marked map of Old Gotham, paperwork with redacted lines, and a mug shot of a young dark skinned man with scales plagued the screens. "Here's what's on our docket these days." I leaned forward in my chair, already regretting turning down the hot tea. It was chilly in here.

"First we've got Waylon Jones," he said, pointing to the mug shot. "Popularly characterized on Vicki Vale's show as Killer Croc. Genetically mutated… this mug shot was taken approximately ten years ago. Now," he leaned over his keyboard and tapped a key, updating the mug shot. The man had been transformed into a veritable crocodile, walking on its hind legs. "His body has been consumed by the mutation. He's enormous and dangerous, and loose. He uses Gotham's sewer tunnels to navigate, but there are so many old and new systems interweaving throughout the city it's near impossible to trace him."

"Not impossible," I interrupted, standing and stepping closer to the computer screens. "Just like any other animal, we just need to track him. We can place sensors in the tunnels to anticipate his movements; then, when he triggers them, we'll be able to track his regular movements to find out what he's up to, where he's hiding, and where he's going. Is this map here already tracking his activity?" I asked, indicating the map of Old Gotham.

"No," he said, zooming on the map to focus on the landmarks indicated. "This is a map of sightings reported of masked swordsmen, mostly from forums and social media outlets."

"And we're tracking them because…" I began.

"Because one week ago, a corrupt diplomat from Bangladesh was killed in his sleep. Throat slit, one movement, security didn't get anyone going in or out," he said, crossing his arms as he looked at the map.

"So… ninjas?" I clarified.

"The League of Shadows," he said somberly.

"League… of…"

"I've had run ins with them before. A terrorist sect led by a mystic named Ra's al Ghul, intent on wiping out crime and corruption by wiping out civilization," he explained.

"A sound strategy," Dick's familiar voice rang out through the Bat Cave, and I turned to see him entering from the mansion and hurrying towards us, Alfred shortly behind him with a tray holding mugs. "But a bit problematic. Bruce gets all butt-hurt about it."

"Dick," Bruce tried not to groan as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"You tell her about Talia yet?" Dick asked.

"Why are you here?" Bruce asked.

"What, first you didn't want me to leave, now you don't want me to stay," Dick shrugged, smiling playfully at me. But I didn't smile. By default, I was on Bruce's side.

"You left. You went to Bludhaven," Bruce lectured him sternly.

"And you found someone to replace me- I'm just making sure she has all the tools she needs to succeed," he shrugged confidently.

"I'm briefing her. And you're interrupting," Bruce said, turning away from Dick and back to the computer screens.

"I can help," he said, dropping down into the chair I had vacated.

"You can stay quiet, or you can leave," Bruce said over his shoulder. Alfred reached me and held the tray out to me.

"Miss Gordon, I brought some tea for you in case you changed your mind," he said. I smiled warmly and grabbed a mug from the tray.

"Thank you, Alfred," I said quietly, and he smiled warmly back. He then approached Bruce and offered a mug.

"I'm fine Alfred," Bruce waved away the tray.

"Are you sure, sir? It's chamomile, it will help relieve stress," he suggested.

"What does Bruce have to be stressed about?" Dick griped, slinking down into his chair. Bruce gave a knowing look to Alfred and took the mug, taking a sip. Alfred carried the empty tray past Dick and away. "What, none for me?"

"So," I said over Dick, "the League of Shadows. What's the plan?"

"We need to arrange a meeting with their leader. Find out why they're here," he replied.

"Oh, of course. You just want to sit down and chat with her. Anyone else we'd be beating to a pulp, but Talia gets a date for assassinating someone," Dick said, swiveling playfully in his chair.

"Enough," Bruce barked back at him severely. I paused- I knew I didn't have all the information I needed to respond confidently. "You're not needed here."

"Uhhhh, I think I am," Dick sang playfully as he stared at me.

"Two Face," I interrupted again. "What's he up to?" Bruce was slow to answer, obviously frustrated.

"We're not sure yet," he said, raising his mug. "But his thugs have been robbing small shops all over Gotham for weeks. Why he's hitting only small shops seemingly randomly is beyond me; he could go after bigger fish, but he's only fishing in small ponds."

"Maybe intentionally. Trying to rob more places for smaller amounts… stay under GCPD's radar," I suggested.

"Maybe. But he's on ours. He's planning something," he said suspiciously.

"Maybe a big heist is coming up," Dick suggested in a whisper behind us.

"Dick should be focusing on Black Mask," Bruce loudly said, turning to face him as he sipped his tea. "He's migrating out of Gotham mainland towards Old Gotham. Once we dismantle his operation there, he'll be heading for Bludhaven."

"And I'll handle him when he gets there," Dick said, hopping cheerfully out of his seat.

"Optimism isn't a plan," Bruce answered.

"I've got bigger fish to fry. Fish it looks like you're researching too," he replied, pointing past us to the computer screen with the redacted files. "That's Bludhaven's problem, not yours."

"It's Gotham's problem if you're unable to handle it," Bruce said, reaching over to the keyboard and hitting a button to darken the monitor. "Which, given your plan to deal with Black Mask, isn't an unrealistic concern."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," he sarcastically smiled at Bruce, "but it is why I came by today."

"Need help already?" I asked sarcastically.

"You will," he snapped. "Riddler was working with the Suicide Squad, and now I think he's working with Joker."

"Joker doesn't play well with others," Bruce said, finishing his tea as I took a sip of mine.

"He does when it helps get his work done," Dick answered. "I've found question marks surrounding buildings that hold traces of chemical compounds in dirty bombs. If Riddler is helping Joker manufacture and move bombs, he could be your key to stopping Joker's next attack."

"So find him and end it," Bruce said, putting the mug down by his keyboard and turning away from the screens.

"This isn't just Bludhaven at stake, Bruce," Dick called after him. "It's Gotham, it's Bludhaven… it might be Metropolis, for all I know. It's not just Joker or just Riddler but a pack of them."

"Scared already?" I asked as I raised my mug for another sip.

"Smart. I know a one-man job from a two-man job," Dick said, watching after Bruce.

"Find something more concrete and we'll put it on the docket," Bruce said and switched off all the monitors. "Until then, get ready for Black Mask."

"I'm sorry, can someone cover what the Suicide Squad is?" I asked, raising a hand.

"When it's relevant," Bruce said, turning to me. "Log some hours on the AR, I want to see more advancement from you…"

"Bruce, she should be briefed on this before it's an issue," Dick insisted.

"Not now. I've got a board meeting," he said, hurrying out of the Bat Cave towards the mansion. Alfred eyed Dick with a cautioning gaze, then followed Bruce out. I turned back to Dick and he stared at me with a playful smile.

"Well... now that we're all alone..." he teased. I held my tea mug in my hands and sat down in the office chair.

"Tell me about the Suicide Squad," I said, holding the mug close to my lips. He stepped closer, brushing some of his hair away from his face.

"You sure you don't want to hear a more fun story?" he smiled down at me.

"You want us to help you or what?" I asked.

"You and Bruce are an 'us' now, huh?" he laughed under his breath.

"That's kinda the deal," I smiled back as I sipped my tea. He shook his head and stepped away, wiping his lips.

"The Suicide Squad was an irrational project launched by some feds trying to exploit the abilities of super criminals," Dick explained. "It's failed once, twice, three times… but they keep trying to bring it back. And somehow they've managed to recruit Riddler, maybe Joker now too."

"Who all are we talking about?" I asked.

"Last I heard the roster, King Shark, Captain Boomerang, and Deadshot were all involved. Deadshot's been stuck in it since the beginning," Dick said, crossing his arms seriously.

"Stuck in it? What, like he wants out?" I clarified.

"They've all wanted out, always. But the squad is either their ticket out of a jail cell or a government sanctioned way to continue business as usual," he explained. "Deadshot's been given so many assassination targets through them, it's insane."

"Why haven't we dismantled the program?" I asked over my mug.

"It keeps jumping departments," he explained. "We get on Homeland's case about it, it jumps to CIA. From CIA, it jumps to FBI, then to Department of Interior… government can't keep track of its own programs, so no one notices."

"Where's their base of operations?" I asked.

"Mobile. They split the group up and force reunions when there's work to be done," he explained. We quieted a moment, and I pulled my legs up onto the seat in front of me.

"It's nice… talking to each other as colleagues," I said, taking a sip of my tea.

"We talk all the time," he grimaced at me.

"Not like this," I shook my head. "Usually it's… you know…"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I said, feeling my cheeks turn red as I called attention to our attraction. "It's nice to work together."

"Well," he said smoothly as he sidled closer, "we can work together more often, if you'd like…"

"And there it is," I said, getting up from the chair.

"What?" he jokingly laughed, knowing fully well what he'd done. "I meant on the Suicide Squad case. Oh, did you think I meant… oh, Barbara, shame on you."

"Ha ha," I said slowly, putting down my mug. "Play time's over, I've got work to do."

"You training?" he asked as I walked towards the AR chamber.

"Yup. Trying to get in three hours a day," I answered.

"Want some help?" he offered. I turned around hesitantly, apprehensive he'd just turn it into an excuse to get his hands on me. "Come on, those virtual reality fighters get so predictable. I'll keep you on your toes. Or your back, if you want."

"And there it is again," I laughed and turned away.

"Come on, I'll help, I promise," he chased after me.

"For every innuendo, I get one hit in for free," I said as I led him to the chamber.

"In _your_ end-o," Dick mumbled under his breath.

"And there's my first one," I said, turning on the lights.

"You don't seriously want us to be all business all the time, right?" Dick asked as he shirked off his leather coat and threw it in a corner. I shrugged.

"I don't think it'd kill you to treat me a bit more like a coworker. I have a hard time thinking you hit on Bruce as much as me," I said.

"Well," Dick answered, standing close, "he's not as cute as you." I smiled, reached up, and slapped him across the face. He looked down at me, bewildered.

"That was my one free hit," I smiled.

"Hm," he responded, and reached for my shoulders to begin a sparring match.


	6. Distraction

**Before I start the chapter, I just want you all to know how many hours I have spent trying to straighten out not only the overarching timeline of this story, but of the entire Arkham franchise (including the games, the comics, the books, and the canon movies)- IT HAS BEEN INSANE. There are conflicts within the stories, and the Arkham Wikipedia is a sad attempt that doesn't add up with dialogue and scripted facts… woof, this has been difficult, and I'm not quite done yet! If anyone has a very clear understanding of the timeline and wants to fill a girl in, holler at me. Otherwise, you just get my highly researched best attempt. Hope you're enjoying the read!**

"You're not worried about him seeing these, right?" I asked as I turned the bat-shaped beacon over in my hands. It was sleek, black, something that would blend seamlessly into Batman's suit; but would stick out like a sore thumb in a sewer tunnel.

"He's not smart enough to look for them, so he won't see them," Bruce answered, punching a combination into his tool chest. It unlocked with a mechanical whir and two shelves unfolded to the sides with tools, and a middle compartment rose up with even more. There was no way he could bring all the tools with him; I realized he must decide which tools he'll need every night before he ventures out. I stepped to his side and handed him the beacon. He took it delicately from my hand and folded it closed, reducing it to about a third of its original (already petite) size. He placed it directly in front of him in a small area with approximately ten others like it, then examined the remaining options.

"There are certain tools I always keep with me," he said, reaching for the Bat hook and placing it in front of him, then doing the same with what looked like high-tech a glue gun.

"Is that the explosive gel gun?" I asked, and he answered by grabbing a cartridge of said gel from a side shelf of the chest. "Anything else you expect you'll need tonight?"

"Well… the batarangs double as beacons, so that simplifies that issue," he explained. "But setting these up runs the risk that I may encounter him in the tunnels. I need to be prepared, should we run up against each other." With that, he grabbed a gun that clearly shot something other than bullets and placed it on the felt in front of him.

"A pulse gun?" I guessed.

"A remote electrical charge gun," he explained as he stepped back from the felt. "Has enough charge to kickstart a generator large enough to power the mansion."

"Or to put down a crocodile," I nodded. He stepped away from the gadgetry and towards the Batmobile, ensuring it was ready for action. "Are you sure you don't want help tonight? I'm sure I can sneak into the sewers another way and place some beacons…"

"Not without your armor, and not on your own," he decisively said, not even looking up from his car. He then slowly turned to look up at me as I disappointedly turned away. "I know you're eager, but…"

"I know, I… I understand," I said, nodding. "I want to be smart about it too. I'm just… you get it."

"I do," he said, smiling at me. He came back up the ramp to me and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Soon. Once the suit is finished and we've run some simulations." I nodded, though something in me felt he'd never feel totally comfortable giving me permission to work on my own. I needed to work on that. Maybe Dick would have some input there.

"Will Dick be meeting up with you tonight?" I asked. Bruce turned over his shoulder to me with a curious grimace. "He mentioned he was hoping for an assist on his Riddler case tonight… I figured I couldn't help, but thought he might have asked you." Bruce turned away momentarily, thinking, then looked back to his suit where he fiddled with his tool belt.

"No," he answered plainly. "Dick left to work in Bludhaven. As worthy as that work is, my focus is Gotham. If I start helping him in Bludhaven, then I'll be helping Superman in Metropolis and Aquaman in Atlantis… there'll be no end to it."

"Makes sense," I nodded, looking down at the tools he had laid out for himself on the felt.

"And we've got enough to keep us busy," he said, turning away from his suit and approaching me. I unconsciously straightened my posture and widened my eyes. He squinted down at me. "If you're going to help me, I need to know you're here for Gotham," he said. "I know there are worthy causes elsewhere, but we're here to serve this city. There can't be any distractions." I nodded dutifully.

"Of course. I am," I answered, but he didn't seem satisfied. He nodded to himself as he began to walk away, but turned back to me again.

" _Any_ distractions," he said again, and this time I could feel the weight of his implications. He meant anything I had with Dick. I nodded, trying to cover how flustered I felt, and he nodded slowly at me, ensuring I absorbed what he was saying, before continuing back to his computers.

It shouldn't have flustered me so much. I didn't have anything with Dick, and if either of us was obsessed with us becoming something it had to be Dick; he was the one constantly flirting and teasing and baiting me. But I did enjoy that, and I did like entertaining the idea that maybe… someday…

But those were just silly ideas, and there was work to be done. Bruce says Dick is a distraction I need to eliminate; it would be considered done. No more flirting with Dick, even for playful purposes; no more sparring just to get our hands on each other and have an excuse to be close; no more playful, flirty banter. Only serious, colleague level behavior. Surely, Dick would understand that.

"Alright," Bruce said, grabbing his sport coat from the back of his chair as he stood, "I need to head upstairs and get some food and rest before heading out tonight. You staying?"

"Figured I'd log a little more time in the AR chamber before I head home," I nodded. He nodded back in return and headed towards the mansion.

"Have a good night, Barbara," he called.

"Be safe out there," I called back in response.

"I always am," he answered before I heard the elevator switch on. I let out a heavy sigh.

"Miss Gordon?" Alfred called me; he must have gotten off the elevator as Bruce had gotten on.

"Alfred… hey," I said, brushing the hair away from my face and walking to greet him.

"Master Bruce said you are planning to spend some time training this evening?" he said, his hands behind his back.

"Yeah, I was just about to head in," I said.

"Might I borrow you for a moment before?" he asked.

"Sure, what's up?" I said as I reached him. He led me past the elevator to a large room in the back, where materials that went into creating all of Bruce's gadgets and costumery were strewn about. "Geez, Alfred, this room is kinda messy."

"It is my job to keep Mr. Wayne's space tidy. This is primarily my workspace, so it can be as messy as I damn well please," he answered with a friendly smile. I stifled a giggle in return.

"Fair enough," I answered, and he grabbed a box from the worktable in the center of the room. He turned and handed it to me.

"It should all be in there," he said.

"What should?" I asked.

"Try it on," he insisted. I looked down at the box excitedly; it was my costume. My suit. I excitedly looked around for a changing room. "Over there," he pointed to a curtained off area, "and when you're ready, come to the AR chamber and we'll run some diagnostics." With that, he left the room and I scurried quickly behind the curtain. I couldn't have thrown my clothes off any faster. The material was light and breathable, but hard and thick. It didn't weigh much, but I could tell it could resist substantial force. The pants took some shimmying into, and I realized the back of the top would be difficult to zip myself into if I were ever in a hurry. I clicked the belt in place, slid into the slightly heeled boots, and pulled out the mask. It slid down over my hair easily, and my long ringlets spun away from my face as the mask held my hair back. I grabbed the cape from the box and headed towards the door, but caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

"Damn," I thought aloud as I scanned over my thin figure, how the bat symbol lay across my chest, and how the mask made me look so intimidating and formidable. I hurried to meet Alfred in the AR chamber. "It looks amazing, Alfred," I smiled as I clipped the cape around my neck with the Bat pendant.

"Anything feeling too tight or too loose?" he asked from the control room, his voice audible through the speakers.

"Not really… the zipper on the suit is a bit finicky…"

"We've got a solution for that, don't worry… there'll be a pull string that easily detaches once it's zipped all the way up," he explained. "You don't really think Master Bruce is flexible enough to pull that zipper up on his own, do you?" I laughed to myself as I strolled around the room. "Right… let's run some diagnostic testing, shall we? You'll learn that fighting in the suit is quite different than out of it."

Alfred was right. The suit allowed me to move faster with more power and more force, but small things about the suit, like the weight of the cape and corners of the mask, limited me in unexpected ways. I was glad the suit was ready because I would need to retrain myself to fight in the suit. After four hours of training in the suit, Alfred insisted I take a break for the evening so some minor alterations could be made and it could be cleaned. I relented, but mostly because it was midnight and dad was expecting me back home. I changed back into my civilian gear and checked my phone to see four missed calls from dad, one missed call from work, and two texts from Dick. I shook my head as I opened the messages.

 _Want to take me out tonight?_

 _You're spending too much time in AR. Come out with me._

I looked down at the phone, knowing fully well he would now get a notification saying I'd read the messages, and closed the messages without responding. I grabbed my things and hurried out of the Batcave to the mansion. Batman hadn't returned home yet, but all the lights were on to indicate that Bruce Wayne was home. I quietly slipped out a back door and got into my car, waiting until I'd gotten onto the main roads to call dad back. He didn't answer. I furrowed my brow. That was odd. I kept my phone between my legs as I drove so that I would feel the phone vibrate if he called.

By the time I made it back into the city and managed to find street parking for my beat-up car, it was 1:15. I hoped dad was asleep, or he was going to be fuming. As I got out of the car, I remembered how badly I needed to get a place of my own. I retreated up the stairs and into our apartment as quietly as I could, closing the door softly behind me. As the latch turned and the lock clicked into place, I heard a floorboard creak behind me. Crap. I turned around breathlessly to see my dad in his bathrobe, arms crossed over his chest.

"It's one in the morning, Barbara," he lectured me.

"I'm sorry I woke you," I said, dropping my things more carelessly by the door and trying to head into the kitchen.

"You think I was sleeping? How could I sleep when my daughter who was supposed to be home by nine wouldn't answer her phone, was nowhere to be seen?" he grumbled at me.

"Dad, I'm fine! I went to the gym, got a little carried away, that's all…"

"Your gym closes at ten, Barbara. What were you doing for the past three hours?" he said, the concern in his voice more prevalent than anger.

"I… the guy left it open late for me. Really, I was just working out, that's all."

"For three hours?"

"Yes, dad, for three hours," I answered as I stepped into the kitchen, grabbing leftover chicken out of the fridge. He was quiet as I put the chicken into the microwave. "What?" I insisted he say whatever he was thinking.

"It's him, isn't it?" he asked quietly. I looked to him, confused.

"Him-who?"

"That new guy you're dating," he said again. I turned away and failed to stifle a laugh.

"No, dad. It is not a guy," I said, grabbing a fork from the drawer.

"Ever since you went on that date, you've been staying out later. You won't talk to me. You've been leaving work early…"

"How do you…"

"They called me," he said. "You've been skipping out on work so much that the library called me to ask if you're okay." I shook my head. Geez, maybe I was spending too much time in AR... "Barbara, what is going on with you? This guy is a terrible influence…"

"Dad, I'm fine. Okay?" I said, pulling the chicken out of the microwave. "Look… I'm sorry I kept you up, that was not my intention. I'm just… I… found this new workout I really like and I want to see where it takes me. It has nothing to do with a guy, it's just… what I want to do." I held his gaze, hoping to convince him it was true. It sucked to lie to him; after all he'd done for me. I wanted to be honest but I knew I couldn't. "I promise, you don't have to worry about that guy," I reassured him, knowing that between his concerns and Bruce's, Dick wouldn't be any kind of influence anymore. He nodded.

"You should get to bed," he said in a low tone. "Any good workout requires a lot of rest to recuperate." I nodded back as I stuck my fork in the chicken.

"I'll be in bed in ten minutes," I said, shoving a huge bite into my mouth.

"Barbara," dad called to me again in a worried voice. I stopped chewing and stared as he looked at me carefully. "Send me that workout." He forced a smile and I laughed back with a smile and nod.

"Will do, dad," I promised. He looked down and slowly shuffled back to his room. I choked down as much chicken as I could, then cleaned the dish and hurried to bed. As stressful as training and my relationship was with Dick, I realized that I needed to do something about my work situation; I couldn't have them calling my dad like I was a kid late to school. Something was going to have to change.


	7. Muscle Memory

**Sorry to be so slow updating, but I've got stuff to do and… yeah. But I'm really in love with these characters. I just read back through some of the previous chapters and noticed a few typos and such- UGH I'm sorry you had to put up with those. Typos are my pet peeve. I will be correcting them all asap.**

Alfred made a few minor alterations to the suit, but it was basically ready. Today was all about putting it to the test- but it felt like I was the one being tested. Bruce allowed Dick's intrusion today, as it meant we could spar in the augmented reality chamber while he watched with Alfred, analyzing my body mechanics and seeing if the suit held me back. It also gave me a great opportunity to show Bruce how training with Dick had been beneficial.

Dick and I were both in our suits. It was a stark change from sparring in our sweatpants. His Nightwing suit had electric blue coloring on his chest, the lines seeming to point attention to certain regions of his body.

"Don't get all excited when you win," Dick joked from behind his Nightwing mask, "I'm taking it easy on you today."

"Don't," I said from behind mine. "The suit needs to be tested. That means I need to be tested."

"Hey, it's your bosses orders," Dick shrugged as he bounced up and down, warming himself up.

"If you would, Miss Gordon, proceed with an initial spar. Nothing too dramatic. The system needs to establish a baseline for comparative analytics," Alfred said through the speaker.

"You got it, Alf!" Dick shouted, then leaned forward to me in a whisper, "he hates it when you call him Alf…" I took advantage of his playful spirit and stepped forward, grabbing his raised wrist and sweeping his ankle out from under him. He hit the ground hard, but closed his palm around the wrist that held his hand, then kicked his leg out and knocked me back over him. I knew that, in a real fight, I could just keep my grip on his wrist and continue to roll out of the block in order to dislocate his shoulder, but I released and rolled forward- Dick still planned to work tonight.

As I rolled and landed on my toes with my palms flat on the floor, he launched himself back onto his feet and flipped forward to gain some space. I came back to my feet and we stared at each other, waiting for the next move.

"Could've given me a heads up," Dick said, fists readying.

"I thought Alfred did," I shrugged. He smiled and laughed under his breath, then ran at me.

Fighting him in the suit was far different than when we were in our workout clothes. When my hands pinned his arms down, they hit hard Teflon like material instead of hot skin. When my legs wrapped around his torso, it felt padded and armored. The suits, I realized, were not just to keep our identities hidden and bodies safe; they protected us from each other, too. It protected me from feeling so intimate with him.

"Work on some high kicks, I want to test the suits flexibility," Bruce ordered over the speaker. I knew that the suit could stand me sinking into the splits, but it was a good idea to test how flexible and fast the suit could be in the heat of a fight. I backed away from Dick, giving myself some space before proceeding.

"You giving up?" Dick joked after me. I held back a smile and took three hurried steps forward before launching into a front flip, then another, to land in front of Dick. As I landed the second flip, I brought my hands down on his shoulders and allowed my knees to soften. The momentum of the flips came down hard on his shoulders and he dropped to his knees. I propelled myself over his shoulders and landed with my feet flanking his calves, my cape draped over his face. I knew that, in practice, this move could take down a foe instantly. But not today.

Upon landing, I spun around, kicking my right foot high into the air above my head, the heels on my boots making the move seem even more dramatic, and spun on my left foot. I dropped the leg over Dick's shoulder, putting his head at about the height of my hips. He faced my leg for a surprised moment, before grabbing around my knee and butt and twirling me to the ground. I used the strategic position of my legs around his shoulders to use this momentum against him, so that he rolled forward over my leg and onto his back. With his hand in my grip and my thigh pressing down on his cheek, I put him in an arm bar hold until he tapped out.

I released my grip and slid out from around him. He sat up and looked to me with an impressed gaze. "Can we do that again?" he asked in a low, giddy voice. I did my best to stifle a smile and stood, and he followed suit.

"Alright Dick, get out of there. I want to see her take out a few AR challenges in the suit," Bruce said over the speaker.

"Nah, we're just getting going," Dick smiled at me.

"Out," Bruce demanded. I looked sternly back at Dick, ensuring that Bruce could see I had his back. Dick was not a distraction. I couldn't let him be a distraction.

"Oh," Dick griped at the wide one-way window, behind which Bruce and Alfred stood. He turned back to me. "Okay, kick some ass then we'll have another go."

"Only if we have time," I said, looking to the window.

"Hey, you okay?" Dick asked. I returned my gaze to him, doing my best to be deadpan, dry, unresponsive. "Don't be nervous. This is an analysis of the suit, not you." I wanted to respond, say something dry and salty to prove I didn't need his encouragement, but he jogged to the exit of the chamber and left. I let out a deep sigh as a heavy quiet settled in the room.

"You're doing great work, Barbara," Bruce said in a low voice over the speaker. I looked around the room briefly with a small smile, hoping it wasn't overwhelmingly evident how hard it felt to push Dick away. "We're going to start you back at level eleven and progress upwards. I'll let you know when we stop…"

"No, just keep them coming," I said, swinging my arms as I stretched. "I wanna go to failure." There was no response from the speakers, but the first batch of assailants materialized in the room with me and I lunged forward with an uppercut to the first.

When we stopped at level twenty two, I felt like I must have forgotten how to breathe. I hadn't completely failed yet, but I would have. I was making sloppy mistakes, kicking lower, punching with less control; Bruce must have seen it. I hoped Dick wasn't also behind the glass watching it. The lights rose as I leaned over my knees, breathing heavily.

"You made a lot of progress today," Bruce commended me as he strode into the room. As I looked up, he threw a full-length towel at me. I caught it as I stood up straight. "There's a bathroom by the library upstairs with a shower in it… go clean up and we can go over your mechanics."

"Why not do it now?" I asked in a light, panting voice.

"Take a moment, Barbara. Allow your body to cool down," he insisted.

"Miss Gordon, I've also prepared a protein shake for you, if you'd like," Alfred offered. I almost laughed.

"How do you have the time to do all that you do, Alfred?" I asked as I slung the towel over my arm and reached up to my cowl. I closed my eyes and grimaced as I raised it off my shoulders, my tangled hair sticking as I extracted it from the slit it tumbled out of. When I opened my eyes, I saw Dick watching me from the doorway, a subtle grin on his face. I turned away quickly, back to Alfred. "Honestly, I really just want water."

"There's a pitcher waiting for you upstairs, in the lounge attached to the bathroom," he noted, offering to take my cowl. "I've also taken the liberty of bringing your gym bag to the lounge- you'll have everything you need upstairs." I smiled and shook my head, returning my gaze to Bruce.

"You have it so rough," I joked to him as Alfred began to lead me out of the room.

Alfred led me out of the chamber past Dick. As we approached he dropped his gaze, a smug smile still on his face. "You need any help up there?" he asked as I passed.

"I think Alfred has me covered, thanks," I answered plainly as I passed. I kept my gaze focused ahead of me on Alfred's back. When we reached the elevator, I looked down at the towel in my hands instead of looking back down the passage, where I was sure Dick was watching me. Alfred threw the lever and the elevator lurched upwards.

"Wonderful performance today, Miss Gordon."

"Thank you, Alfred," I smiled at him.

"I believe you've found quite a match in Master Grayson," he said. The gust of air that surrounded the elevator whipped up my hair as I glanced between him and the elevator shaft awkwardly.

"Match? No, he's… I mean, he's a fine sparring… partner. Yeah," I said, realizing how awkward I sounded. I turned away and closed my eyes in agony. Why was I so awkward…

"Of course, Miss Gordon," he answered. I kept my head facing forward but my eyes shifted in my skull. What the hell did that mean…

The elevator came to a halt at the top of the shaft and we got off, stepping out of the door disguised as a bookcase. He led me out of the library and to the left, where a door opened into a seating area. My gym bag was sitting on a chaise lounge chair, and beside it was an end table with a pitcher of water, an empty glass, and a protein shake. There was a large, ornate, floor length mirror across the room, and a laundry basket resting at the bottom of it. An open door at the other end of the round room led to a white tiled bathroom. "You can leave your suit in the laundry basket there… I'll make the appropriate alterations and clean it."

"You do so much, Alfred," I said, turning to him. I honestly felt a little uncomfortable. I'd never been waited on like this before. "I can do it, really…"

"Actually, Miss Gordon, I rather imagine you _can't._ Do you have any experience cleaning Kevlar and Nomex?" he asked. I laughed to myself and shook my head. He smiled in reply. "Take your time… Master Bruce will be waiting downstairs when you're ready."

"Thank you, Alfred," I smiled as he retreated from the room and closed the door politely behind him. Once he was gone, I downed half the water in the pitcher. Then I reached awkwardly up to the back of my suit, wishing I had asked for help before he'd left, and managed to finagle the small zipper down to my hips. I tossed my boots, high socks, and gloves in the laundry basket, then began to slip my arms out of the sleeves. I pressed the suit down around my hips like a wetsuit, and I felt my body instantly cool as my skin was exposed to the air conditioning in the room. I tossed the heavy suit and my undergarments into the laundry basket, briefly glancing my naked appearance in the mirror. My body was wet with sweat from my scalp to my ankles, and my skin glowed in the soft light of the room.

A flash of a memory struck me as I scanned my body; a memory of Dick's body wrestling mine to the ground, holding me down as he straddled over me. I shook it out of mind and turned away from the mirror. I hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind me, and turned on the shower. I let the water stay cool, and I stepped under the rain-style shower head. I allowed myself to linger under the water a long moment, reveling in the cool relief, before taking the artisanal soap and lathering my body. Quaint bottles of shampoo and conditioner were placed in the shower, probably by Alfred, specifically for me. I lathered my hair and rinsed, and forced myself out of the shower before I got too relaxed. I dried myself off and wrapped the towel around me, tucking it in at the chest to keep my hands free to change.

I half expected to see Dick in the lounge when I reemerged from the bathroom, but he wasn't there. The laundry basket with my suit had also been removed. I knew it was good, that Dick wasn't waiting for me in the lounge, and I was thankful for the privacy, but I realized a part of me was disappointed too. I inwardly scolded myself for that disappointment. I couldn't have anything with Dick. It was useless to permit those thoughts, even for a second.

I pulled my sweats out of my gym bag and put on a comfortable bra and cotton tank top. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and put on my blue-light glasses, preparing to focus on my results and how I could improve. I threw the bag strap over my shoulder and headed for the door, protein shake in hand. When I opened the door, Dick was in jeans and a leather coat, leaning on the door frame waiting for me with a straw between his lips from the protein shake he was sipping.

"Fancy meeting you here," he smiled as he looked up at me, his lips still around the straw when he spoke.

"I need to get back down there," I said, shuffling past him through the door and towards the library.

"What's the hurry?" he asked, following me. "Got a date?"

"No," I said, not turning around to face him, "I've got a father that gets suspicious when I stay out too late, though."

"Gordon's a bit much, huh?" he giggled. I opened the bookshelf door and turned back to face Dick.

"My dad saves this city on a daily basis, just like you or Bruce. He deserves your respect," I said curtly. I didn't mean to be so brusque, but he was making it really hard to ignore him. Or just to be friends with him. He just kept being so… tempting. I stepped onto the elevator and he hurried in next to me.

"Whoa… didn't mean to offend, Batgirl, I just wanted to…"

"Batgirl, really?" I asked. "Not even Batwoman or Batlady, Bat- _girl_?"

"Well, neither of those really roll off the tongue," he smiled cheekily. I turned away, deciding that remaining grumpy was safer than letting my guard down. "Oh come on, what is with you today? Did I rub you the wrong way? Or pin you too hard?"

"You're fine, Dick. I just don't need anything else from you tonight," I said, keeping my gaze focused ahead of me as the elevator descended.

"Need anything else?" he repeated. "That your way of rejecting me?"

"Are you asking something of me?" I finally turned to him as the elevator reached the bottom. He stared back at me, seeming genuinely confused. I stepped off the elevator and started heading down the passage.

"What's wrong, Barb?" he asked loudly after me. I bristled at him calling me Barb. It was so intimate, so personal, so close. I wasn't allowed to have him so close. I wanted him that close, but he couldn't be.

"Nothing," I said, trying to soften. I turned back to face him. He stood, just off the elevator, staring at me in frustrated confusion. I took a step closer and lowered my voice. "Look, if you were… looking for this to… I don't know, turn into anything? It won't." He cocked his head to the side, as if he was even more confused. "I'm sorry," I said as I shook my head and turned away. He didn't say anything as I walked down the passage and into the AR control room. He didn't follow me either. I entered the room alone to find Bruce, leaning over the controls. "What do we got?" I asked as I dropped my gym bag on the floor by the door.

"Suit's looking great. I asked Alfred to weave in some more elasticity around your upper thighs… some of your higher kicks looked like they were restrained in the suit. I'll also want to give this another go soon with your gadgetry involved… your suit is shock, bullet, and knife resistant, but you'll need to know what all that feels like in order to fight through it."

"So you want me to come back in another day to be shocked, sliced, and shot?" I clarified.

"Under supervised conditions, of course," he answered with a smug smile.

"Sounds fun," I consented. He clicked through some of the analytics to show my suits telemetry map and a visual representation of my fighting style.

"As far as technique," he said, "you've certainly improved since I first studied you. You've gotten great at close quarters combat. You seem unafraid to get in close with your body," he observed. Another flash of landing under Dick's body, his hands on my thigh and butt, ran through my mind. The way he looked down at me with his sweaty hair hanging over his brow. The rough and careful way he brought me to the ground.

I shook the thought out of mind. Stop it, Barbara.

"I want to get you better acquainted with enemies that need more lead time before you can take them down… dodging blades, anyone with shields, or the occasional enemy that can only be attacked from behind," he speculated.

"Such as?" I asked. He turned to me seriously, eyebrows raised.

"In a fight with Bane or Solomon Grundy, you wouldn't attack head on," he advised. I nodded and considered the idea; the idea of facing either of those foes alone was hard to swallow. "We'll start working on that next time."

"Before that, can I cover something with you?" I asked. He stood up straight and turned around to face me, leaning back against the dashboard. I felt embarrassed, like I was about to ask too much. "My dad's getting a little suspicious… because I still live with him and because he's close to some people at the library where I work. I don't have a good cover story, and he counts on seeing me every night. That'll make it hard to sneak out to fight crime on a regular basis." He nodded.

"I've been making some preparatory arrangements," he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "How would you like to come work for Wayne Technologies?" I raised my eyebrows, surprised.

"Oh… wouldn't that be suspicious?" I asked. He shrugged.

"Half the city works for a Wayne Enterprises subsidiary. We could start you as a co-op, so you can keep your job at the library part time for a little while, then promote you up. We can keep you in informatics. It's a lean department at the Gotham branch, but we could give you a private space to work on criminal investigations during the day," he explained. I nodded; there was no reason to say no. It was just happening so much faster than I expected. "As far as living with your dad goes," he continued, "I've got something in the works. But it's going to take a while. We'll need something to temporarily give you an alibi."

"What do you have in the works?" I asked.

"I'll hire you an escort," he said, avoiding the question. "Totally legal, but very discreet. They'll pose as a friend or boyfriend, show up when they need to, call and text to provide alibi sources."

"Can it be a friend? I don't think my dad would be very supportive of my suddenly being out all night with a random boyfriend," I suggested, based on my recent conversation with dad. Bruce nodded.

"They'll be in touch tomorrow," he said, standing up straight again and turning towards me. "Anything else?" I shook my head, sitting upright in my seat.

"No… when do I start at Wayne Tech?" I asked, standing as I grabbed my gym bag.

"Lucius will expect you on Monday."


	8. Questions

**Guys, I am _sooo_ sorry for how long it has taken me to write. Honestly, I have been involved in a THOROUGH research project on setting the timeline straight for the Arkham-verse and I have a proclivity to tell things exactly how they happened and I know there are inconsistencies and it bothers me so much... but I'm trying to move on. So please, go easy on me. And thanks to the new followers... seeing those notifications really inspired me to keep putting pen to paper (so to speak). Enjoy!**

"You're going to be out _how_ late?" Dad asked from the kitchen, his gun holster swaying against his chest.

"3 am?" I said in a light voice. "Something like that? Just don't wait up for me…"

"Barbara, the city is dangerous at night. What on Earth are you doing?" he shrugged.

"I'm just going out with a friend…"

"Is this about that guy again?"

"No dad, it's not a guy, there is no guy," I said, then immediately questioned myself. Would it be a guy? This escort Bruce had hired was meant to be picking me up at nine, but they hadn't reached out yet; I didn't know if it was a man or a woman. "It's just a friend, it's a new friend I met at the gym, we're just going to hang out."

"If you tell me you're going to be working out until 3 am again…"

"No, dad, well," I said, hesitating again, "we might go to the gym, I don't know. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?"

"You never go out with friends," he shrugged so animatedly that the coffee in his mug sloshed over the side and onto his hand.

"Maybe I should! I'm only in my twenties once, I should act my age occasionally, right?"

"Not the way other girls act. You know how many problems this city has with human trafficking? Girls going out one night and not coming home?" he cautioned me, as if I hadn't heard the horror stories a thousand times.

"Dad, I know, I'm not gonna be stupid about it. Can you just trust that I'm smart enough to take care of myself?" I asked in a quieter tone, trying to soothe his nerves. Bruce probably wouldn't keep me out all night, but I wanted dad to be prepared in case I didn't make it home. "Please, just… go to bed, and I'll be home by the time you wake up. Or I'll text you if I stay over at her place or something, okay?" He shook his head, clearly wanting to argue more but knowing that he needed to bite his tongue. I reached forward and put my hand on his arm comfortingly. "I'm gonna be safe. I promise. I just… want to see what it's like to not fall asleep on my desk or with a book in my hand." He couldn't withhold a small smile at that. He seemed to thaw to my touch, and his shoulders eased lower.

"Can I meet her? Your friend? What's her name, anyways?" he asked. I opened my mouth to respond, though I had no idea what her (or his) name would be. As if perfectly timed, a knock came at the door. I smiled at him and side-stepped towards the door, looking through the peep hole. In an instant, I took in her appearance: a young woman a bit shorter than me with well curled dark brown or black hair. She wore a stylish leather coat over a black blouse, and her makeup was done to perfection. Dad would not buy that this girl was the type I'd typically call friend. But I stepped back and opened the door with a smile.

"Hey Barb! You ready to go?" she smiled at me and spoke like we'd been friends for years. I smiled back with a nod.

"Yeah, I just need to get my stuff. Did you want to come in for a second?" I asked, unsure if she'd want to say yes.

"Sure," she said, taking a large step through the apartment door and looking to my dad. "You must be Barbara's dad, the commissioner, right?" she asked with her hand outstretched. My dad accepted it and nodded respectfully.

"That's right. Barbara hadn't told me your name yet, you're…" he asked as he shook her hand.

"Oh, I'm Colleen! Nice to meet you," she said in a mannerly way. I relaxed a little as my alibi seemed to fall into place and grabbed up my backpack, which had already been packed with a change of clothes. "Thanks for letting me steal Barbara for the night," she playfully shrugged. "We won't get into too much trouble, I promise."

"I appreciate it. Bring her back in one piece," Dad smiled, though I knew there were still genuine anxieties beneath his forced grin. I stepped closer to him and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"We'll be fine dad. I love you," I said as I stepped through the apartment door and led Colleen away.

"Love you too," he called after me as Colleen waved goodbye. I led her out of the apartment building in silence, not wanting to jeopardize the success of the lie until we were out of earshot of my dad.

"I got us an uber," Colleen (if that was her real name) said as she hit the sidewalk. She hurried up to a black sedan and got in first. I got in after her and looked to the driver's seat to see not some pedestrian with a side-hustle, but a man who wore the hat of a professional driver. I closed the door behind me and the car slowly emerged into traffic. "Everything went well up there, right?" Colleen asked me. I looked to her and nodded.

"Yeah. Thanks," I said. She smiled and nodded, then lifted her phone.

"I just texted you my number. Save it in your phone as Colleen Bucci," she instructed as I felt my phone in my backpack vibrate. "The story for tonight is that we went to my place, spent some time pregaming, you helped me make a workout plan, and then we went to a club. I'm going to text you a couple times throughout the night just to reinforce that story, things like 'where'd you go' just in case someone looks at your phone for an alibi. If you don't get home until 6 am or later, have your boss message me so I know to say that you stayed at my place." I looked cautiously at the driver as I took in all this information. "Oh, don't worry. Your boss hired him." The driver looked in the rear-view mirror and nodded back at me.

"My boss?" I asked quietly. Colleen looked up at me suspiciously.

"Yeah. Your boss."

"What…" do you know, is what I wanted to ask. Was she really doing this and had no idea why? Or did she know everything, about who I was and what I was doing, and what Bruce was doing?

"Look, all I know is that I'm paying my way through grad school by being your cover story. And that's all I need to know," she said. The car rolled to a stop at a red light and Colleen turned and opened the door. "Have a great night doing whatever the hell it is you do," she said with a smile and closed the door behind her, weaving through the cars and heading down the sidewalk. The car started off again in the direction of Wayne manor and I leaned back in my seat, a bit mind-blown at what Bruce's money could buy.

"Don't feel self-conscious," the driver said quietly back. "I bet Bruce Wayne's had secret girlfriends like you in the past." I almost laughed at how wrong that statement could be. There I was, sitting in the backseat of the nice sedan in torn jeans, a tank top, and a hoodie sweater. If Bruce was looking for a girlfriend, I'm sure I would have been last on his list. But I didn't say anything; if that's what the driver wanted to believe, it was a lot more believable than what was really going to happen.

After being buzzed in at the entrance to Wayne Manor, the driver dropped me off at the front door where Alfred was waiting.

"Good evening. I hope everything went as hoped this evening," he asked as I came into the house.

"Yeah, well," I shrugged, "if you mean my dad thinks I'm clubbing, a stranger picked me up, and the driver thinks I'm a mistress, then… sure. Everything went perfectly." Alfred had closed the door behind me and smiled back at me.

"This way, Miss Gordon. He's ready for you." When Alfred said Bruce was ready, he meant it. I was taken directly to suit up and, once I was ready, Alfred led me to the main monitors in the cave where Bruce was leaning over the keyboards in full Batman regalia.

"What do we got?" I asked, looking up at the monitors. A map of the Gotham sewer system was enlarged with several green and red beacons.

"The sensors we left for Waylon Jones have been disturbed. Not all of them, but some of them. We need to get down there and figure out if he's disabled them, then reinstall them to properly track his movements," Bruce said.

"Technically, haven't they already tracked his movements?" I asked. "If he's only disturbed a few of them, then he's probably only messed with the ones on his route. If we follow the disturbed beacons, we'll probably be led right to him."

"Which is why you're coming," Bruce said, turning away from the monitor and sauntering towards his case of gadgets. "I don't want you anywhere near Jones yet, but I want to reconfigure the beacons as quickly as possible. I'll be following the beacons, you'll be repairing them." A part of me wanted to argue, but I knew I should be grateful he was even taking me out. And I didn't want to face off with Killer Croc yet either. I followed him to the case of gadgets and he looked down at a stack of the beacons that doubled as batarangs. I grabbed a stack of ten or so and placed them in a holster on my belt. "This is a dry run only," he said, cautioning me. "We get in, fix the beacons, get out. No confrontations."

"You got it, boss," I nodded. He reached into the case and pulled out something that looked like a gun.

"For you," he said. I took it and realized it was like his grappling hook gun. I aimed it up across the Batcave, examining its sight. It would take some getting used to. "Use it carefully. It's not as easy as it looks." I attached it to my belt with a nod.

"Ready?" I asked. He nodded, and we headed for the Batmobile. He opened the rear hatch and allowed me to sit in one of the seats before it was sucked back into the car.

"Sir," Alfred said over the earpiece installed in my cowl, "Master Jason is asking for you. Shall I tell him you'll see him upon your return?"

"Tell him not to wait up for me, I'll see him in the morning," Bruce answered over the mic.

"Who's Jason?" I asked. I didn't get an answer. I wondered if the microphone wasn't on in my cowl, but knew that probably wasn't the case. The Batmobile roared to life and I felt like I was stuck on a rollercoaster zooming backwards through the streets of Gotham. I wasn't one to get nauseous from motion sickness, but I could imagine that Alfred probably had to hose out the Batmobile from time to time, when bad guys got sick.

When the car stopped, I heard a beep and the hatch opened. The seat extended to the ground and the harness around me raised as I stood. We were in an alley somewhere downtown; the lights were dimmed and it was near impossible to see deep enough into the alley where the car was stowed. Batman hit some buttons on his forearm and a light pinging noise sounded in my cowl.

"The first beacon is just below us. Remember: I follow, you fix," he said. I nodded, and we headed for a manhole cover. He pulled it off and I carefully descended first, landing in a small stream of water at the bottom. The sewer tunnel was empty, but I could see deep slashes in the concrete walls. Croc had assuredly been here. Batman dropped into the tunnel beside me and started forward. I followed, and the pinging in my ear grew to a faster tempo as I neared the damaged beacon. As the pinging grew to a heightened frequency, I looked to my feet and saw the beacon jammed into the concrete below; Croc must have accidentally knocked it down.

"Here," I said, calling Batman's attention to it. I yanked it from the concrete; it had been smashed, probably by a large foot, and likely wouldn't work again. "Want to keep it?"

"They're easier to replace than repair," Batman answered, scanning the horizon of the tunnel in case we were snuck up on. I threw the beacon aside and grabbed a new one from my tool belt. I turned it on, and sharp prongs stuck out the back of it. I pressed it firmly into the wall at about hip level, hoping it was out of sight enough for Croc to ignore it.

"We're good," I said to Batman as he pressed forward. A new pinging started in my cowl, directing me towards the next damaged beacon. We pressed forward until we found the next one, which looked like it had been balled up in a tight fist and crushed. "He saw this one," I said as I pulled out a new beacon and set it up at a lower level.

"Keep following them. I'm going ahead; he could be leading us into a trap," Batman said without stopping.

"Okay," I said as the new beacon clicked to life and the pinging in my cowl slowed. Batman had already disappeared around the corner, but I was sure I'd see him again soon. I was careful to splash as little as possible in the water of the sewer as I pursued the next beacon; I was keenly aware that it could be Killer Croc's plan to separate us, then attack us one at a time. Then again, he didn't know I existed yet, right? I found the third beacon, which had been knocked down accidentally, and managed to set it back up in a more inconspicuous place.

"Only two beacons left," I heard Alfred's voice in my cowl.

"Oh," I said into the cowl, "you surprised me."

"Apologies, Miss… oh," he hesitated. My muscles tensed and I froze in my steps, worried he knew something I didn't.

"What is it?" I asked, looking up and down the sewer tunnel.

"I just realized… we never assigned you a code name," Alfred responded. I almost laughed as I relaxed.

"Do you have one?" I asked.

"No, but we've found I've rarely needed one," he answered. I nodded as I continued following the pinging of the next beacon. My thoughts returned to Dick on the previous night, as he'd tried flirting with me. How frustrated I'd been with him, but how drawn I was too him. He'd thought of a code name and I had to admit, it did roll off the tongue.

"Nightwing suggested a name," I tentatively suggested. "Batgirl."

"Not exactly indicative of your power," Alfred commented. I found the next beacon lying half in the water and pulled it out to see a red light shining on it: too damaged to use.

"Yeah, well… maybe that's a good thing. Makes my job easier, if they underestimate me," I said as I replaced the beacon.

"Very good, Batgirl," Alfred said. I almost laughed as I heard him say the name out loud, but I just smiled and shook my head to myself as the beacon lit up. A brief thought of Dick's half-cocked smile and blue eyes distracted me, but I shook it off and listened to the pinging in my cowl again. Just one beacon left. As I approached the sound, the pinging abruptly silenced. I stopped in my steps.

"What happened to the beacon?" I asked into the cowl, raising my hand to my ear as I tried to reach Alfred.

"It appears to have been replaced. Perhaps Batman beat you to it," Alfred answered.

"I did," Bruce's voice came over my cowl. I grew a little self-conscious; I hadn't considered that Bruce would be listening in, too, when I'd mentioned Dick. "Batgirl, keep moving forward about 200 feet. I'll meet you there." I did as instructed and, when I met him, I saw what he had drawn my attention to. A large hole in the concrete had been punched through and, below, there were more tunnels weaving in and around each other. Some might have been part of the metro line, but not all of them.

"What are all of these?"

"Older sewer lines. Underground passages, possibly used in times of the underground railroad or other black market trades. It's possible Waylon is accessing them, which leaves a lot of tracking yet to be done," Batman answered. I motioned to pull out my grappling gun, but Batman waved a hand at me. "Not tonight," he said. "We've done enough. We need to learn more first." I didn't argue. He was right. I knew what to research now; there were city planning documents to pull, schematics, engineering plans. We could learn a lot about what Croc was up to on the computer before we jumped into the fray. I leapt across the chasm towards Batman and we went up to the next manhole cover. Batman exited by shooting his grapple out of the sewer. It grabbed onto the edge of the manhole and he was flung out. I looked at the narrow exit and wondered if this was the best time to learn to use my grapple. I let out a nervous breath and pointed my grapple, fired, and let the momentum of the gun pull me. I sucked my shoulders in tightly and realized that the mechanized pull of the gun would keep my momentum going past the edge of the manhole. I was thrown out of the sewer and had just enough time to bend my knees before landing on my feet. I smiled giddily as I realized I'd managed to grapple correctly and hadn't horribly hurt myself on my first try.

"Good work," Batman said, then shot his grapple again towards the top of a building, and he was gone. I followed, this time with much less apprehension, and landed on a rooftop at his side. He hopped a few more rooftops in this manner, mostly to give me opportunities to practice, I was sure. I appreciated the chances. By the time we landed on a roof at the edge of Founder's Island, I felt like I had this grappling thing down. He approached the edge of the roof and looked out across the water, and I stood by his side. Just across the water, I could see the green lights of the Oblivion Bar where Dick and I had seen the known associates of Riddler.

"We came to help Nightwing?" I asked. Batman looked back at me with serious eyes, then returned his gaze to the bar across the bay.

"He needs to take care of his own problems," Batman answered. "But Riddler is a problem of ours, too. He's not in custody anymore, and no one's trying to lock him back up. Which means Nightwing was right; we was likely recruited to work with The Suicide Squad."

"Which I still haven't gotten a full briefing on," I reminded him.

"You'll have time and access to case files when you start with Lucius next week," he said. "All you need to know for now is that Riddler is loose, and he appears to be working in Gotham. I want him brought back to justice."

"I thought you said that was my problem," a familiar, coaxing voice said behind us. Dick was approaching from behind; who knew how long he was on that rooftop with us. "But I'll still take the assist, if you're offering it," he smiled. In his black outfit, with the light blue accents and his black hair dangling over his mask, I felt a flutter of excitement I couldn't suppress. He looked me up and down as the light breeze blew my cape and hair back behind me. "Looking good, Batgirl. Or did you settle on a different code name?"

"I settled for Batgirl just fine," I said, putting my hands on my hips.

"We're not here for Riddler tonight. And we're not here to help," Batman said, turning away from Dick.

"Then you're kind of in my spot," Dick said, shouldering his way between me and Bruce. I looked him up and down for a moment, and he returned my gaze with a small wink. I did my best to contain a smile and turned away, taking a step back and following Bruce towards the opposite edge of the roof. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me." Batman grappled off the roof to swing to another, and I followed. We dashed over rooftops and made our way back towards his car; I supposed that meant the night was over.

"It might get a little difficult if we always need to carpool to the crime scene," I said from the back seat of the Batmobile. Batman was driving us swiftly down darkened roads and past slow drivers. He kept his eyes glued to the road ahead, concentration crucial to the speeding drive.

"Do you know how to drive a motorcycle?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, trying to suppress my excitement.

"Good, we've got a spare. We'll outfit it and get it ready. But for now, I want you with me," he responded. I couldn't help but feel a little babysat. I understood; the stakes were as high as possible. If I messed up, it wasn't just my ass on the line; lives were at stakes, as were identities. If someone like Joker beat me in this costume, I wouldn't just suffer a painful death; he'd reveal my identity, try to torture others' out of me, and torment my family. Batman needed to be sure I was up to snuff before letting me venture out alone.

He sped into the Batcave and I was unloaded from the back of the car, but Batman didn't get out. "Alfred, outfit Robin's old bike for Batgirl. Barbara, I want you to get in the AR chamber for some technical training."

"I can fight with you," I suggested, as it was evident he was going back out. But he didn't answer; he just sped away and was gone. I let out a slightly disappointed sigh. I knew I needed to be patient, but I didn't want to be. Alfred led me dutifully to the AR chamber to find it was already on, but on a new setting. In the chamber, I could see everything that Bruce was seeing. "Very cool," I commented as I watched Bruce zipping onto the streets of North Gotham. "Is this where you work while he's out?"

"Actually, I haven't been in here tonight," Alfred said with an exasperated sigh. He walked to a corner of the room where he picked up a dirty towel and a water bottle, then looked back around the room. "When Master Bruce fights, the AR will construct opponents that fight as his opponents do. You can learn from his technique in real time." I nodded as I looked around the room.

"Very cool," I said. "Dick uses this to train?"

"Not in a long time, he hasn't," Alfred answered. I nodded to myself. If Alfred wasn't in here, and neither was Dick, then who had been using it before we'd gotten there? The name Jason popped back into my thoughts, and I wondered if there was something Bruce hadn't told me. Was he training someone else, too? A different replacement for Robin? I felt defensive and nervous, though I know I didn't have a reason to. I stepped into the room as Alfred stepped out and I watched Batman's movements as he lunged at criminals in dark alleys. The fighting was difficult, but the story his fights told were what intrigued me. He saved a woman from a mugging. He stopped the robbery of a small market by men that must have been Two Face's and strung them up for the cops. He stopped a drunk driver from running over pedestrians. They weren't the heroics that made international news, but it was heroic nonetheless. Seeing the world through his eyes, I could see all the dark that there was to stop; but I could also see the light in people's eyes when they were granted a second chance on life, when they got the justice they deserved.

It made me want to be on the streets more than anything.

When Batman made moves to return home, I quickly changed out of my suit and waited for him in my sweats in the Batcave. It was 2:36 when he pulled onto the launching pad and got out of the car.

"You're still here?" he asked nonchalantly as he dropped his cowl beside the monitors and punched a few keys.

"I watched you, in the AR chamber. Like you said," I said, my arms crossed over my chest. He looked across the screens as he pulled up the file on Harvey Dent and logged some information.

"A quiet night," he acknowledged.

"Productive, nonetheless," I shrugged. He looked at a clock in the corner of the screen.

"You should go home. I'll send you instructions about when I need you next. And Lucius will meet you Monday morning at Wayne Tech," he said as he began to take off pieces of his suit, starting with his gloves.

"That's it? Just… off to bed?" I asked, kind of disappointed at the casualness of the evening.

"I've got other work to do," he said, tossing his arm bracers on a tray beside the monitors.

"Work with Jason?" I asked tentatively. He stopped disrobing and looked at me seriously. I regretted saying anything. I nodded and sucked my lips in, telling myself to just shut up.

"Alfred will drive you home," Bruce said brusquely, and I got a feeling that he wasn't going to need me any time soon.

"I'm sorry, I just…" I said, urgent to make amends before I left. He stared back at me with patient eyes. "I just don't know what's going on. I want to." Bruce looked down at the keyboard and nodded. He began to walk past me but stopped abruptly at my side, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. He removed it before he spoke.

"Your first week will be spent getting you up to speed on our current cases. Lucius knows your time is accounted for this first month," he said. "As for Jason… you'll meet him soon. Just be patient." I wanted to know who he was, why he mattered, but I didn't press the issue. I nodded, and he left the cave. I let out a sigh and followed, grabbing my bag on the way out. Alfred already had the car pulled around, and Bruce had disappeared into the corners of his mansion. Alfred drove me into the city quietly at first, though I could tell he knew I was bothered.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Miss Gordon?" he asked comfortingly. I tightened my lips. He could tell me who Jason was. Or who Talia was, that Dick had mentioned days before. He could explain Bruce's trust issues. He could tell me why Dick left Bruce's side, even though Bruce was still clearly his benefactor. But he wouldn't; I knew he'd want me to learn these things in their own time. I knew that was fair. So I shook my head.

"No, Alfred… not right now," I answered.

"Time discloses truth," Alfred mused aloud. The quote was familiar to me…

"Seneca?" I asked. He smiled into the rear-view mirror.

"Quite a memory you have," he answered. "Master Bruce will give you answers. But some answers cannot be given… they need to be earned." I nodded. I knew he was right.

When Alfred pulled up to the curb a block away from my apartment, I climbed out slowly. "You're doing marvelous work, Miss Gordon," he assured me. I smiled back in at him.

"Thanks, Alfred," I grinned, and closed the door behind me. I retreated into my dad's apartment to find a wrapped cheeseburger in the fridge with a note on it: _to avoid hangover, eat now._ I laughed under my breath and, though I didn't fear a hangover, I ate the burger in its entirety out of mere hunger. I showered and went to sleep, and when I woke it was to sunlight, honking cars, and my cell phone alarm. When I turned off the alarm, I realized I had two unread messages, both from Colleen.

 _Where'd you go,_ sent at 12:36 am.

 _You were on FIRE. Let's go again soon!,_ sent at 2:45 am.

I shook my head to myself. Colleen, if that was her name, was good. I hurriedly dressed and got myself ready, running into dad in the kitchen. He was holstered up and ready to go.

"How you feeling?" dad asked with a smile cocky smile.

"Wonderful, thank you very much," I laughed, grabbing a pre-made protein shake from the fridge and shaking it before opening the bottle. "Thanks for the burger, by the way."

"It worked, right?" he said, taking a long sip of his black coffee. I shrugged.

"I'm not hungover, so I guess so," I smiled.

"You had fun?" he asked. I nodded as I took a sip.

"I did," I said, remembering the texts Colleen had sent me and comparing them to the reality of me punching virtual bad guys in Bruce's AR Chamber. "It seems I'm a pretty good dancer."

"What time did you get in?" he asked.

"Somewhere around 3," I shrugged, leaving the kitchen and grabbing my bag. "I gotta run, dad. Work."

"You told them about your new job, right?" he raised his eyebrows at me.

"Yeah, but they're gonna let me stay on part time. None of the staff understand the Dewey Decimal System anymore… they want me to train them," I laughed with a shrug. Dad shook his head with a laugh.

"Of all the things you could be teaching people to do," he sighed. I smiled back and hurried to his side, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Love you dad. See you tonight," I said.

"You're not clubbing again, are you?" he jabbed at me as I hurried out the door. I stuck my tongue out in reply and disappeared from the apartment. I got to the library desk right on time, where my sleepy and homely coworkers were just shuffling in with their coffees. The only customers so far were Gotham's homeless that used the computers to check emails. I used the sleepiness of the morning to rifle through Gotham's digital archives of newspapers, using the keyword "ninjas." After finding a lot of fluff pieces on parkour enthusiasts and children's karate classes, I found a few peculiar crime reports. Random sightings, incredible opinion pieces submitted to editors, jabs at officers that put the word in incident reports for lack of better terminology. Nothing solid to go with. I was sure that the records I'd get access to on Monday at Wayne Tech would be infinitely more informative.

So, I moved on. I started to pull up building plans for the offices around where we'd found the damage in the sewer lines the night before. Usually, you need to go to the City Planner's office and pay a nominal fee to view schematics for each building; but if you could hack an access code or two, it was free. I found plans for the surrounding buildings that showed winding tunnels for five stories below ground level. Combining the files would be tricky: something that the library computers weren't capable of doing, but Wayne Tech computers were likely able to do with ease. So I hit another dead end.

I bit my lip and tapped the space bar of my computer impatiently. I wanted to get to work now, not just sit at the library and do nothing. In the newspaper database of the library, I typed in the name "Batman" and then "Jason." Two hits surfaced: a story about Batman stopping a mugging behind a place called Jason's Tavern, and a Gotham Sun tacky tabloid piece titled "Child Arrested for Robbery." The article detailed an account of a small store robbery: a fifteen year old named Jason Todd had successfully robbed the store, only to be caught by Batman and sent to juvenile detention. And that was it. The article produced more questions than it answered. Could this be the Jason that Alfred had mentioned? Why would he call him 'master?' Or was this just a random coincidence?

"Excuse me," a voice called me back to reality. I jerked away from the computer screen, trying to put on my customer service face for whoever needed help, when I realized who had spoken. Dick Grayson, in his blue Bludhaven police uniform and a navy tie, was leaning over the counter towards me, his black hair falling in his face as usual. He was always breathtaking in his Nightwing uniform, just as he was dashing in his workout clothes, but there was something about seeing him in police uniform that made it impossible to breath for a second. I tried to force a look of annoyance, but I think it just came across at stunned silence. "I'd like to check something out," he smiled at me, looking me up and down. I closed my eyes and shook my head.

"That is the worst line," I said under my breath. "What are you doing here? Bludhaven is _that_ way."

"Bludhaven coffee can't beat Ernesto's across the street. And besides, you just happen to work at my favorite library branch," he said, pushing away from the counter and sliding a coffee cup towards me.

"And why is this your favorite library branch?" I asked, looking dubiously at the coffee cup.

"I thought I just said… _you_ work here," he said, raising his cup to his lips and taking a sip. I looked away and tried not to smile at his pick-up attempts. It was too early to deal with his flirtations; I didn't have the energy yet to withstand them.

"Look, you've gotta go," I said curtly. "I can't… do this with you."

"Have coffee? What, like you've got so many people who need you right now?" he looked around the library, full of homeless people seeking warmth and free wifi. His eyes stopped on someone behind me and he winked. I turned around to see Phyllis, the matronly 70-year old woman looking out from the stacks of books that needed to be re-shelved behind me. She blushed a bright pink and turned away with a giggle. I turned back to face him.

"Time to go," I stated.

"What, I bring you a coffee and you can't even muster a thank you? Kinda rude, don't you think?" he said, leaning an elbow on the counter in front of me. He looked up at me with innocent, pleading eyes.

"Thank you," I shook my head. "Now get moving. I've got work to do." He frowned at me, displeased at my answer. "Look," I leaned forward to him over the counter, "I can't do this, okay? I want… this… to work, and entertaining… us… is gonna ruin my chances, okay?" I tried to explain in the plainest terms I could, without saying anything incriminating.

"What, you really think the boss is gonna fire you over a workplace relationship?" he whispered in a giggle.

"Yeah," I laughed back. "I think that is a distinct possibility." Dick leaned even closer to me.

"What he doesn't know isn't gonna hurt him," he smiled teasingly at me. I sat up straight and took a long sip of my coffee in response. It was flavored well; was that hazelnut creamer?

He pushed away from the counter again, frustrated but persistent.

"You know, I've got answers," he said with a smile. "I know you've got questions, and I've worked with him for years. Trust me: he's gonna keep you in the dark a long time, unless you get the answers you want on your own." He took a step towards the door, keeping his eyes on me. "Why don't you call me, when you want to talk?" he suggested with a cocky smile. It was a tempting offer, especially given the news about Jason I'd just found. I wanted those answers, and I honestly wanted to take him up on his offer. I wanted a lot of things. But I couldn't cave that easily. I waved goodbye and took another sip of my coffee as he pushed out the door and adjusted the cap on his head. A moment later, someone tapped my shoulder. Phyllis hurriedly sat down beside me, looking in the direction of the door.

"Who was that and why aren't you dating him?"


	9. Getting to Work

**I've been spoiled with some additional free time for writing this month, but heads up: that's all going away! I'm going to be super busy until the end of the month, but I'm hopeful I'll have another chapter up around New Years. Happy holidays all :)**

I dressed in black blouse, grey sweater, and grey skirt: not exactly the sexiest outfit for my first day at Wayne Tech, but I never was that fashionable. In my plain clothes and black ballet flats, I arrived in the lobby of Wayne Tech. The lobby of the building was bigger than my entire apartment building; its lightly green tinted windows kept the sunlight from blinding the poor receptionist stuck at the desk all day. She'd called Lucius Fox's assistant, who had sent another assistant to fetch me. Despite knowing I had the job in the bag, and that Lucius couldn't fire me without Bruce's approval, I still felt nervous. I'd never had a job like this. I was beginning to miss the library and the familiar stink of Phyllis' perfume.

"Miss Gordon?" a man in a suit asked me as he approached from the elevators. I smiled and hurried over to him. He waved me along and didn't stop to shake my hand. "This way. Mr. Fox is waiting for you." The man hurried me into an elevator at the end of the row and, to my surprise, hit the button to be taken to level B6; six floors underground. The elevator, empty except for the two of us, descended and let us off on a slightly chilly level. While there were crates and shelves full of what looked like various equipment, there were no offices on this level; there were no people to speak of whatsoever. I looked around curiously, half prepared for Killer Croc to ambush me at this depth below the city.

"Miss Gordon," a low, friendly voice greeted me. Approaching from the depths of shelving, a tall man with a slightly paunchy stomach and studious eyes smiled at me. "So glad you found us." The assistant that had delivered me perked up and stood erect with a professional tone.

"Do you need anything else, Mr. Fox?" he asked eagerly.

"No, no. Thank you Matthew," he said with a smile. The assistant scurried away and boarded an elevator, and he was gone. "Now," he grinned at me, "the real work can begin." He led me through the shelves, his hands behind his back. "My apologies for the slightly solitary working space. But I figured you wouldn't want coworkers occasionally watching you over your shoulder."

"What is this place?" I asked as I gazed up at the shelves. I couldn't tell what everything was at a glance, but the words 'beta test,' 'prototype,' and 'augmented reality' jumped off of labels. "Is this a product development division?"

"Something like it," Mr. Fox answered. "Wayne Tech has a great deal of clients, from universities to cutting edge laboratories to the U.S. government. We try to stay ahead of the curve and develop anticipatory products. Many never see the light of day. Though some," he paused and looked at me with telling eyes, "manage to see the edges of night." I smiled knowingly; I wasn't going to need to lie to him at all, would I? He kept walking forward and turned a corner suddenly into an office, roughly the size of my bedroom. "Apologies for the cramped quarters," he said, and I might have laughed at the remark. Clearly, Mr. Fox had enjoyed more than a librarian's salary for some time. "But you should have everything you need."

I had more than I needed. A super-computer had been hooked up to four monitors, all adjustable, to create a magnificent dashboard for me to play on. There were other pieces of equipment also hooked to the computers, including a centrifuge, a holographic emitter, and a 3-D scanner. "This is all for me?" I asked as I dropped my purse on the desk, feeling like a child at Disney World. I turned back to face him and he smiled.

"Mr. Wayne asked that I make sure you have everything you need to do your job well." He shrugged his arms wide, gesturing to the office. "Is there anything else you need?" I scanned the room again, almost laughing that I was offered so much luxury.

"An electric kettle and some tea bags would be nice."

With a hot cup of tea in front of me and my blue light glasses on the tip of my nose, I got to work. Over the next four days, I would enter the building, swipe my security key card, descend into my quiet basement, and blast nineties alternative rock while curating our case files. I would have stayed until midnight, had my dad not relentlessly called and texted me to come home. But I finally had all the access, speed, and data to run amuck. I felt unchained, untethered, free to explore in a way I rarely had before.

When I left the office on Tuesday, I noticed Dick had messaged me: _you ready for those answers yet?_ I smiled down at the text and ensured that Dick would see that I'd read it, but I didn't reply. I did want those answers, but I didn't need him to get them. By the end of the day on Wednesday, I was done doing work on the cases. I moved on to some background work. I started to dig up files on everything else I felt out of the loop on: The Suicide Squad; The League of Shadows; Jason. When I couldn't find the answers I wanted, I resisted the urge to grab my phone and call Dick. Instead, I just made a note of my dead ends and kept pressing forward.

On Friday, Bruce invited me over after my shift at the library to see what I had managed to work up on the cases. I saved my files to his network and had everything ready for a masterful, stunning presentation. Perhaps I felt like I needed to prove my worth when fighting; but with data and informatics, I could just put on a show and let him marvel.

"Where would you like to start?" I asked, excited to get going.

"Let's revisit the briefing last week. What have you found on Killer Croc?" Bruce asked, one hand holding a blended green drink and the other in his suit pocket.

"So glad you asked," I said, tapping a few keys and pulling up the complex file on Killer Croc. Along with his dossier and crime history, the map I made appeared on screen. "I combined the schematics, subway maps, and sewer lines to create a labyrinthine map of where Waylon could be hiding. I was able to tap into Bat Computer data to see which beacons had been triggered and which hadn't, and they indicated that he is probably utilizing the spaces below the sewers to travel. But I was able to eliminate some of his possible routes, judging by activity levels on subway lines and the deteriorated quality of some of the city's more decrepit bowels. It makes our guessing game easier, so we have less chance of stumbling onto Croc and more of a chance at locating him intentionally." When I finished my spiel, I looked up at Bruce to see him nodding and studying the map carefully.

"Where does this tunnel lead to?" he asked, pointing down a route that I too had deemed likely.

"It's a long way, but it eventually leads under the bay to the lower west side of Old Gotham," I said.

"Cobblepot," Bruce grumbled. "That's Penguin's territory. What could Killer Croc want with Penguin?"

"That's assuming he's going that far. If he's staying near enough to Central Gotham to disturb our beacons on a regular basis, it's unlikely he'd be going all the way to Old Gotham through the tunnels regularly. It's miles away, even underground," I explained.

"Then where is he heading?" Bruce asked impatiently.

"I think you were right before: we'll need to place more beacons to find out," I answered. He didn't seem satisfied with my answer.

"What else do you have?" he asked as he raised his glass. I minimized the Croc case file and clicked onto the next: Two Face.

"I used your pre-existing map, which pinpointed all the robberies across Central Gotham, and looked for patterns. What I found was this," I said, clicking the space bar to show the dashed lines back to corresponding banks around the city. "Each of these small stores was opened using a bank loan from different branches of Bank of Gotham. The strange thing is the same loan officer is on the paperwork for each of these branches: Jack White."

"Joker," Bruce said. "It's one of his favorite aliases." I nodded; I'd already figured that out, but I was happy to let him join in the discussion.

"My theory is that Joker went sour on a deal, and Two Face and his men are getting their money back from the store owners," I said. "I've found a few more stores with Jack White as the loan officer. They'll be Two Face's next targets."

"Good work," he said, clearly happy to have solved the case even if we still had work to do to stop the robberies. I smiled cutely and minimized the tab, moving on to the next file.

"Now things get a little murkier," I said as I opened the large file containing dossiers on The Suicide Squad, Riddler, and Joker. "The redacted case file you were going to show me in the briefing last week is generally relating to what Dick told me, and does indicate that Riddler was recruited to join The Suicide Squad. But it's less clear why. I'm wondering if he might have been recruited for the purpose of helping Joker… maybe Suicide Squad is trying to lure Joker into trusting them so they can kill him Julius Caesar-style, but it doesn't seem like Nygma's style to do other people's dirty work."

"It's not," Bruce agreed, "unless he's persuaded it's his idea."

"Sounds complicated," I suggested.

"He's a megalomaniac narcissist. He believes all the best ideas are his," Bruce assured me. I nodded. "But this is Bludhaven's problem for now. Keep a pulse on it and make sure nothing finds it's way into Gotham." I couldn't help but smile to myself; I could feel Bruce learning he could trust me. It felt good.

"Next up," I smiled as I switched tabs, "is Black Mask. As you said, he is mainly operating out of Old Gotham now, but he does still seem to have some activity moving around Port Adams. I'm wondering if he's still shipping in product in that way."

"Not unlikely. So many shipping containers just get lost in the stacks; I wouldn't be surprised if an operation was hiding in one," Bruce nodded with arms crossed over his chest.

"Time for a little recon?" I suggested. He silently agreed. I minimized the file and pulled up the last open file I had. "Last and, unfortunately, least… the League of Shadows." I spun around in the chair and faced Bruce directly. "I've got nothing, because these files were restricted access."

"And you didn't try hacking them?" Bruce asked skeptically.

"I was trying to be respectful," I grimaced at him. He looked down at the keyboard in thought. "What I can't figure out is why you'd give me full access to case files on everything else, give me the blueprints to all your gadgetry, expose your identity, as well as Alfred's and Dick's, but somehow… this information is more important?" He didn't answer. He didn't look up from the keyboard. "Who's Talia?" I asked. At this, his eyes met mine. I had remembered her name from when Bruce was briefing me and Dick intervened, saying that she was privileged by Bruce; that if it were anyone else, he'd respond to these assassinations with brutal force while she got a date. Bruce broke eye contact and turned away from me, stepping back from the monitor. "Did you two date?" He shook his head and looked up at the Batwing, dangling in the corner of the room. I was beginning to get frustrated, so I stood up and decided to be plain. "I also tried to research whoever Jason is," I confessed. His shoulders tensed at this, and I wondered if I was crossing a line. "I couldn't find anything… nothing solid, anyways. But the way Alfred spoke about him… are you training him, too?" Bruce slowly turned back to face me. His jaw clenched and I could see he was frustrated. "I want to help, Bruce. But trust is a two-way street."

He was silent a long moment; one that probably lasted only a few seconds but dragged on for what felt like hours. I wondered if I would actually be fired. He turned away abruptly and began walking towards the elevator back to the mansion. "League of Shadows isn't in your case load. You'll be briefed on it if or when I need your help." He kept walking forward in silence, like that was all he had to say.

"And Jason?" I called after him. He didn't answer. He disappeared into the hall and that was it. I felt a flame ignite in me; all my work, and he couldn't give me two damned answers? I hand him his next steps and I get nothing in returns. I wanted to scream; all my time searching and trying to learn, trying to prove Dick wrong, and Bruce shut me down instantly. My stomach dropped as I realized that was perhaps the most frustrating part: I had wanted to find these answers on my own, not by asking Dick for his help. Now, my impatience was getting the better of me. It was only 7:30 now. I could meet Dick somewhere and get my answers before being back in Bat-clothes tonight.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened the messages app to see the long string of unanswered messages from Dick.

 _You ready for those answers yet?,_ sent Tuesday at 4:32 pm.

 _He's not taking you out tonight, is he?_ and _You can party with me if you want,_ sent Wednesday evening.

 _Come on, don't be stubborn,_ sent Thursday at 9:07 pm.

 _I'll be at Good Good's till 9, if you're ready,_ sent today at 6:04 pm.

I could go now and find him, sit with him at the bar and get answers to my burning questions that Bruce refused to answer. I could.

But the more I thought about it, the more I remembered how bad of an idea it would be. He wouldn't give me the answers I wanted so easily; no, knowing Dick, he would make me beg for them. He'd taunt me with the information I wanted; maybe he wouldn't even give me what I wanted at all. And he would definitely distract me; I was doing so well ignoring him. And maybe Bruce was just testing me, trying to see if I'd be able to wait.

It was the right call. As frustrating as it was, I needed to wait for Bruce to open up to me. And I needed to stay firm in my position against Dick; if I dropped my professional insistence and let my guard down around him, I'd be in trouble. He'd be sure to take advantage of me… and I'd be sure to let him.

Yet, as sound as my decision was, I wasn't happy about it. The sun had already begun to go down, so I changed into my Batgirl uniform, left a note on the keyboard, and revved Robin's old motorcycle to life. The block bike with dark purple accents was sexy and sleek, nothing like something I'd ride as Barbara Gordon. As I rode down the dirt path out of the Batcave and hit the road, I realized that Batgirl was nothing like Barbara Gordon.

Weaving in and out of cars, I considered just how polite and meek Barbara Gordon was- and how aggressive Batgirl was. How demure and plain Barbara Gordon was, and how sexy and jaw-dropping Batgirl was. Batgirl was my alter-ego, my second face, and while I genuinely didn't want to be the things Batgirl was in my real life, I was exhilarated to put her on and dart through traffic as her. My cape whipping up behind me, some cars honked and others slowed as I weaved around them; I heard one child yell from a car as I passed it, "it's Batman!" And I smiled to myself. No kid- I'm something else entirely.

I left the bike in an alley and began hopping rooftops until I came to the roof at the edge of Founder's Island, overlooking the Oblivion Bar. I hadn't come to scope the place out, and I wasn't really here to get a jump on crime-fighting for the night. I'd come because, despite knowing better, I was disappointed that I didn't have an excuse to see Dick tonight. And for some stupid reason, that bar with the dirty cops and the buzzing neon green lights reminded me of him. So I stood there, looking down at the bar as night fell over the city, feeling the wind in my hair as it tumbled out of my cowl and in my cape at my back.

I pictured Dick, sitting alone at the bar at Good Good's amidst a crowd of Bludhaven drunks and corrupt cops. Waiting for me. Staring at his phone, at the small script below his last message to me acknowledging that I had read the text, that I'd thought about his invitation. Looking at his watch and realizing it was almost 9, and I hadn't shown up. I felt disappointed in myself, on his behalf. But why? It's not like we were dating, or I'd led him on, or promised him any allegiance. If anything, I'd done the opposite and made it very clear I couldn't have a romantic relationship with him. So why did I feel like I'd stood him up?

The soft patter of feet on the rooftop behind me stirred my attention, and I turned to see Batman approaching me. It wasn't until after I saw him that I'd realized I'd gotten excited at the hope that it was Nightwing; when it was Batman, I felt disappointment resonate through me, and embarrassment at that disappointment.

"You got my note," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. He stepped up to my side and looked across the bay at the bar.

"Is Nightwing at The Oblivion?" he asked, looking down at me. I shook my head.

"He's at a bar in Bludhaven. Not as Nightwing," I answered, looking back at the bar across the water. I could feel his eyes study me a moment before turning away again.

"Good," he said, and it sounded genuine. "Let's get to work."

We spent the night in a busy haze: we planted more beacons in the sewers and underground tunnels to track Waylon Jones' movements and were lucky enough not to stumble across him. We scoured Port Adams, looking for any signs of Black Mask's operations but were unlucky to find anything on the Friday night. As we were leaving the port, I noticed some thugs on the sidewalk by the old orphanage starting to shove each other in the beginnings of a brawl. I looked to Batman and, as soon as he gave the nod of permission, we swung into action. Batman swung down into the pack of eight thugs first, kicking the two men apart that were championing the fight. The remaining six were clearly intimidated, but indulged in the fantasy that they outnumbered him and could thus beat him. As soon as they started to swarm him, I took the opportunity to drop down by my Bat-gun and perform an inverted takedown on one. As he dangled from the cable by his ankle, the remaining five on the ground looked up to see me gliding down towards them with a high kick at the ready. They were all so stunned to have two bat-nemeses that we swiftly took the group down in a matter of seconds. Within a minute, the group was dispatched and we zipped off the scene. I smiled proudly as we hurried away through Bristol, looking for the next challenge of the night.

At the end of the evening, around 2:30 am, we arrived back at the Batcave and I parked my motorcycle in it's particular corner. I removed my cowl as Batman got out of his car and headed to the monitors. "Alfred," Batman asked through his comms unit, "give me a breakdown of Nightwing's whereabouts tonight."

"Are you sure, sir? Check-ins like this are part of the reason he left," Alfred answered through a speaker unit in the keyboard. I didn't say anything aloud, but I hid a smile as I came to understand why Dick left; someone got tired of feeling babysat. I couldn't say I blamed him.

"I'm not checking in. Give me the breakdown," Batman insisted.

"Nightwing didn't put on his suit until 10 pm tonight. He spent most of his evening in Bludhaven, though it appears he did come to Gotham for a brief period around 1 am, making a stop in Chinatown," Alfred answered.

"The Oblivion Bar," I suggested. Batman turned away from the keyboard and looked at me. I felt a little self-conscious. With my cowl off, I felt like I was two different people at once: half Batgirl and half Barbara. But even worse, I could feel my red hair caked to the sides of my face with sweat, and I was sure my hair was a tangled, ratty mess.

"You've done well tonight, Barbara," he said to my surprise. I tried to contain my excitement at this review and only smiled lightly. "You should go up to the library and take a shower… head to the kitchen after and get some food."

"I'm alright," I tried to shrug away the offer; I could shower and eat at home.

"I insist," he said forcefully, turning back the keyboard. I might have made a joke (What? Do I smell that bad?), had he not said it with such intensity. But as he did, I followed directions. Once in the library bathroom, I stripped out of my suit and left it for Alfred to clean. I took a cool shower, a welcome delight after such a hot and sweaty evening, and changed into the leggings and white cotton tee I'd brought with me. Once out of the bathroom, I left the library and realized: I didn't know my way to the kitchen.

From the library, I knew how to get back to the front doors of the mansion and into the Batcave. That was it. But it was a kitchen… it couldn't be that hard to find, right?

I crept through the halls quietly, as if I might wake the portraits of rich Wayne ancestors. Eventually, after winding my way past the front doors and towards a formal dining room, I heard the soft clinking of a plate. I smiled with relief, knowing it must be Alfred. I followed the sound until I found a room spilling bright light into the hallway. I rounded the corner to see a room of rich, dark wooden cabinets and white marbled counter-tops, and a man standing over the sink- a man that was not Alfred.

He was young- maybe twenty years old, but that felt like a generous appraisal. He was incredibly muscular with mussed black hair and a gaunt face that suggested an impossibly high metabolism. He wore light grey cotton sweatpants and a red tee shirt, and held a half-consumed sandwich as he chewed a mouthful of the food.

As I took him in, I realized I probably looked crazy. I was frozen in the doorway, staring at him eat. I forced a quick smile and raised my hand in a friendly, innocent gesture. "Hi," I spat out, "sorry, I…thought you were Alfred." He shrugged back at me.

"He made a sandwich for you too, I think," he said, throwing a quick glance towards a counter in the corner of the room. I stepped further into the room to see a plate on the counter with a neatly arranged, pre-cut sandwich. I inched closer to it, but was infinitely more curious about him than the food.

"Thanks," I said. "I don't think we've met yet. I'm…"

"Barbara Gordon. I know," he said with a mouth half full of food. "And I think you should've picked a different name. Dick picked Batgirl just to mess with you, you know." I half-smiled and let out half of a laugh.

"Well… joke or not, it does sound better than Bat-woman," I shrugged and picked up the sandwich, leaning against the counter and staring at him. "And you're… Jason, right?"

"Yeah," he said, looking at me skeptically though without stopping eating. "He told you about me?"

"Not really, no," I said, shaking my head. "I think he was hoping we'd run into each other."

"That's not how he works. We ran into each other because he wanted us to," he said, taking another large bite of his sandwich. I nodded with a smile.

"Sounds about right," I said as I took a bite of my sandwich that was about a third of the size of one of his bites. "So what are you doing up at 3 am?"

"I was never really good at going to bed on time," he answered disinterestedly. He finished his sandwich and put the plate in the sink. "I gotta finish some homework. Later, Batgirl," he said with a curt wave, and he disappeared from the room. I wanted to stop him, to chase after him with questions, but I knew he wouldn't answer them. Hell, he'd probably learned how to be an enigma from Batman… his father? His mentor? I felt like I knew who Jason was now, but I still had no idea who he was. I carried my plate with my sandwich back to the library and down into the Batcave, where I found Bruce sitting in sweatpants and a tee shirt and looking at the monitors. As I came in, he noticed the plate in my hand.

"Did that help?" he asked. He might have meant the sandwich, but I knew he meant the meeting.

"I could still use some answers," I said, offering him the other half of the sandwich that Alfred had left for me. He didn't take it, but instead let his eyes fall still on the screens in front of him.

"Two and a half years ago, I found Joker. I was angry, exhausted, emotional… and Joker got the better of me. I blacked out right as Joker was aiming a machine gun at me. When I woke up, this… kid… was standing beside Joker, holding my grapnel gun to his temple. At only fifteen years old, he had managed to save me, fight back Joker, and get him in a position to kill him. I stopped him, of course. And the kid had just robbed a store, so I had him arrested. But through some Wayne Industries projects and hard work, his sentence was reduced.

"He was an orphan… raised on the streets by addicts and mob bosses. He's angry, and he's clever, and a remarkable fighter. I took him in as my ward years ago. Showed him what he can do with his gifts," Bruce explained.

"Why?" I softly asked, hoping I wasn't interrupting the story but curious to know.

"Because there was a time when I was an orphan and angry. And his path might have been mine," he looked up at me somberly. I could see the sense of duty in his eyes, but more importantly I could hear the loving tone of voice he used when he spoke about Jason. Jason was not his son… but he may as well have been.

"You are training him to be the next Robin," I wondered aloud. He nodded slowly.

"I wasn't always," he answered, "but when Dick left, I decided it would happen. But not until he's done with school. He turns 18 on August 16th. If all goes well, we can take him out together for his birthday."

"Together?" I asked, my spirits lifting at the thought. Bruce smiled ahead of him as he considered the idea.

"You should get home," Bruce said with a nod. "I've got to help on some math homework, then we should all get some sleep."


	10. Flying Solo

I was beginning to enjoy my routine on Wayne Tech days. Monday through Thursday, I would get up at 5am and prepare a quick breakfast, making an extra serving for dad and leaving it in the microwave, and be out the door by 6- right around the time my dad would be rolling out of bed craving his first cigarette. I'd head directly to the gym, where I worked through a carefully curated exercise plan created by Alfred (the man had some serious military training in his youth, you could tell from his workouts). In the gym locker room, I'd shower and change into my nicer office clothes, then drink a packed protein shake as I walked to work at Wayne Tech. I'd be in my office by 8:30 or 9 most days, switching on my 90s rock and firing up the computer for a long day. For the next 8-10 hours, I'd be hunched over my computer with my blue light glasses on, scouring databases and collecting records and making answers out of endless information.

We were hot on Waylon Jones' trail. Black Mask would get a visit from us soon. Two-Face's Men were cornered. But I still hadn't learned what I wanted to about the League of Shadows. I still didn't know who Talia was.

Loving my new job at Wayne Tech made it even more difficult to go back to work at the library on the weekends. Not only did it suck to have to work seven days a week, but I would sit at the front desk tapping my fingers anxiously, knowing how much I could be accomplishing if I were at my other desk. My coworkers seemed to sense it; they seemed to be asking more questions, knowing I might up and quit any day now. While I hated the idea of leaving them hanging… yeah. I could quit any day now.

Which is why, on this particular day, I was standing in front of a room full of part time library employees, varying in age and appearance, making a presentation on the Dewey Decimal System. I wasn't kidding when I told dad people didn't know how it worked anymore.

"Why can't we just look up on the computer where the books go?" a young man (nah, let's call him a boy) with oily hair asked from the back.

"You can," I answered honestly, "but if they ever decide to reorganize the stacks or if the computers go down, you can easily tell where a book goes based on the number on its binding. That's why we have the system. Besides, it's a lot easier and faster to learn the language of the Dewey Decimal System than to look up each individual book in the system and figure out where to reshelve it." For that answer, I got a roll of the eyes and he leaned back in his seat, doing his best to put his apathy on display.

I held my presentation in the common area of the library, just inside the main doors and past the front desk. I was encouraged to have it here so that even the people that needed to man the desks would be able to pay attention, and because the upper management of the Gotham Libraries thought it might be an interesting topic for a public lecture. The only members of the public I saw were a few homeless people with nowhere better to go and two young sisters with Girl Scout hats on, clearly looking for a badge (their mom was outside, talking loudly on her cell phone and smoking).

Towards the end of the presentation, just as I was explaining why certain letters prefixed the decimals on certain books, I looked towards the front desk to see a familiar, coaxing face. Dick, in his Bludhaven police uniform, was leaning casually against the library counter with two coffee cups in his hands. He was sweet talking Phyllis, who abashedly blushed and quietly giggled behind the counter. As if he could feel my eyes fall on him, he turned to smile at me and gave a quick, flirtatious wink. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling and turned back to my class.

The session ended with practical application. A rolling shelf full of books that needed to be shelved stood to my side. "No using computers, no using your phones. Just grab a book and, by looking only at the spine of the book, return it to its rightful place." As I finished my instructions, the two little girls hurried to the front of the room and each grabbed four books from the shelf. The library employees groggily shuffled to the cart and grabbed a book each, looking far more aimless than the two children had. Meanwhile, I made my way to the front counter.

"Is there something I can do for you?" I asked, forcing exasperation in my tone. But Dick just chuckled and smiled widely at me.

"That, my dear, is a very dangerous question," he smiled. I gave a fake smile and he outstretched a cup of coffee to me. I took it but hesitated to drink.

"Why are you here?" I asked more plainly. He took a sip and shrugged innocently at me.

"What, a guy can't come to his favorite Gotham public library branch at 9 am on a Saturday to watch a presentation about the Dewey Decimal System?" he smiled. I clenched my jaw in efforts to keep as neutral an expression as possible. He just kept smiling at me in that baiting, goading way from behind his coffee cup. I caught sight of Phyllis in my periphery, leaning over the counter and watching us interact like she was watching a soap opera. Seeing me stare at her, she just raised her eyebrows at me as if to say, ' _are you really not gonna kiss him?'_ I looked back to Dick and put my hand on his arm.

"Let's talk out here," I insisted. Dick allowed me to lead him towards the front doors of the library, though not without making a noise of eager excitement. The cool early March air was a bit chilly for comfort, but I preferred it to having Phyllis meddle in my business and to Dick putting on a show in front of all the people I worked with.

"Phyllis is sweet. You should give her my number," Dick smiled to himself as he drank his coffee.

"She is sweet, don't be an ass," I defended her. He lowered his coffee cup and raised his eyebrows at me, calling my bluff. "She's nosy and a gossip, but sweet," I clarified with a shrug. He smiled back at me, one hand resting on his police belt and the other holding his Ernesto's coffee cup.

"Where ya been?" he asked. The question almost surprised me; no quip, no sass. Just straightforward and plain. I shifted my weight, shrugging my shoulder blades together as if to blame my discomfort on the cold.

"Working a lot," I answered obliquely. I sipped my coffee, thankful for the warmth it provided. It wasn't hazelnut this time; it had a strong dose of vanilla in it.

"Yeah… three jobs will keep you busy," he nodded as if lecturing me. I was about to correct him: I only had two jobs, the library and Wayne Tech. But then I remembered that he knew about my third job, the job that kept me up all night and required Kevlar. I slammed my lips shut and nodded. "You getting the answers you need?" he asked. I nodded somberly again.

"Most of them," I answered honestly. The only secret that Bruce seemed to actively keep from me was about the League of Shadows; there was something about this Talia woman that he didn't want me knowing. But I wasn't about to ask Dick. If I had patience, Bruce would come to trust me. I just needed to wait. "Jason seems like a good kid," I said with a plain smile, hoping it would persuade him that Bruce was open with me. Dick raised his eyebrows quickly, then looked back down at his coffee cup seriously.

"Yeah," he almost chuckled out, "yeah, he is. Better than he knows." Dick stared down at the lid of his coffee cup with a modest, distracted smile for a long moment before looking up at the sky above my shoulder. I resisted the temptation to inquire further. "So, is that it then?"

"Is what it?" I asked.

"The other night," he said with a sideways nod of his head. "When you said we couldn't…" he trailed off, but I knew what he meant. In the Batcave, I had told him that we couldn't turn into anything. We couldn't date, couldn't flirt, couldn't work together… we really shouldn't even be interacting on a regular basis. Dick had hung up his mantel as Robin, moved on to Bludhaven. I was his replacement, not his friend. "You're really gonna let him tell you what to do?"

"Yes, I am," I quietly retorted, avoiding drawing attention from passing pedestrians. "As much as I'd love to say we're partners, he's my boss in all this. And I want him to be my boss. He's training me. Without him, none of this would be possible. I don't want to risk this on… this," I vaguely motioned to the space between the two of us. "I want to do what he asks. And I don't expect you to understand that." His eyes stayed locked on mine, studying me, assessing if I meant what I said or if I was just making excuses for myself. He turned away, looking over my shoulder at the traffic beyond me.

"I know you think you're doing this the right way," he said with a nod, "but a day's gonna come when you'll regret following him blindly." I wanted to argue, but his eyes- those ice blue, crystal clear, heart stopping blue eyes- met mine again and I felt my throat tighten. In a serious, somber tone that I had rarely before heard, he said, "you are his partner. From the moment you signed on, you're his partner. Not his project. Don't make the mistakes I did. You're the same as him." His eyes stayed fixed on mine.

He was standing so close to me, his head bowed close to mine in a serious low tone. I could kiss him. I wanted to. I became instantly aware of the heat of my breath and my heavy pulse and the feeling in my stomach that urged me onwards.

I tightened and pressed my lips together as if giving them a command to stop. As if he'd heard my thoughts and knew I had to tell myself to pull it together, he smiled out of one side of his mouth. He stepped backwards to throw his coffee cup away. The moment he pulled away, I felt myself regain control of my senses.

"Mistakes?" I asked, reflecting on what he'd said. When his eyes returned to mine, he tightened his lips in a disappointed grimace.

"All stories I could have shared… had you ever shown up for drinks," he shrugged. My gaze and shoulders fell, feeling like I had missed out on learning so much. But I knew I couldn't trust him; or rather, maybe I just couldn't trust myself with him. He began to walk away, and my eyes followed as he passed me. He stopped and turned back to me once more. His lips parted in a smile and I knew he was about to say something snarky, some quip. But he stopped short; had he seen something in my face? His smile softened and his eyes stared into mine. "Call me, Barb," he said, "when you figure it all out. Call me." And he left. I stood on the sidewalk and watched him climb into his BPD police cruiser. He pulled away from the curb without so much as a second glance at me, and I watched him go, squashing every eager thought that wanted to chase after him.

Why should it matter if we dated, it's not like we

Stop.

But why should Bruce care? We don't even work together, it wouldn't even matter

 **Stop.**

This is stupid and so childish and I'm not a child and Bruce can't control me

 **STOP.**

I forced myself back into the library, where Phyllis was staring at me with intrigue over the counter.

"Did you dump him? Sweetie, he's not gonna keep coming back if you give him the cold shoulder. You need to lock that down," she advised me. I inhaled deeply, held the breath in my lungs, then let it out through my nose as I trudged past her and watched the struggling librarians figure out the Dewey Decimal System.

* * *

Standing on the edge of the roof, I could watch the dying neon lights illuminating the storefront: BEER, WINE, CIGS. Not exactly the catchiest name for a Gotham bodega, but it got the point across and was clear enough to inquiring customers. The shop owners were from Colombia and, though most spoke a level of English, only one member of the family had been fully naturalized. The money they were making was being sent home to support family there, and the eight family members that worked the shop (including a mother, father, three children, two uncles, and one grandmother) all lived in a two bedroom apartment in Old Gotham. They were getting by on very little, which explains why they resorted to using the services of a sketchy loan officer: Jack White (aka, The Joker).

I had done my research. And I would be damned if Two-Face robbed this family to get back at Joker for going sour on a deal. It's Joker: criminals should _expect_ him to flip on them. It's Harvey's own damn fault for trusting him in the first place.

A swooshing of capes alerted me to Bruce's arrival on the rooftop behind me. He stepped up alongside me and looked down at the shop with me.

"You're sure it's tonight?" he asked.

"As sure as I can be," I replied. "The hits have been seemingly random, but he's only human and humans leave patterns. The last hit he made was nine days ago, and it was at a bodega on the Northeast side of town. He's going to hit one in a different neighborhood, like this one, and judging by the timeliness of the hits it'll happen tonight."

"So, we're not sure," Batman grumbled, turning to look at me. I faced him with a forced shrug.

"There's only three bodegas left. So it's a gamble- but the odds are in our favor."

"Waiting here means we're leaving this city vulnerable. If we're here, we can't be vigilant for other threats," he said, almost scolding me.

"Batman, it's happening tonight. The patterns, the strategy… my gut tells me it'll happen tonight," I said with a shake of my head. He scanned me dubiously, wondering how much faith he had in me.

"I'll stay within a four-mile radius," he said, turning and removing his grapnel gun from his belt. "If you see anything, call. We'll stop them together."

"Don't stray far," I cautioned him as he shot his gun and zipped away. I knew he had his doubts, but I felt certain it would happen tonight. And moreover, this is what I was here for anyways, right? To be his backup, his other set of eyes, his second brain? I could stay vigilant here, and he could pummel bad guys elsewhere.

I monitored the store carefully, listening as the shop owner watched a sports channel in Spanish and drunken patrons purchased bottles that they would wrap in brown paper and leave the store swigging. It was a quiet night for the shop, with only the typical sounds of traffic as the night dragged on.

Around 1:30 am, a banged-up van swerved and stopped abruptly on the curb. Four men, pulling masks down over their faces, hurried into the shop, each clutching a gun in his hand.

"Batman," I said into our comm device, "they're here. It's time to move." But he didn't answer me. "Batman," I said again. Still no response.

"Miss Gordon, I believe he's engaged in combat at the moment- his biometric readings are elevated as such," Alfred answered me through the comm device. My eyes darted from the shop to the van and back again; I didn't have time to wait. Not only would Two-Face's men get away, but the shop owner was in danger and time was running short. It was time for action. I shot my grapnel gun to the adjacent roof and swung down towards the van, landing silently on the balls of my feet.

Step one: I needed to ensure the getaway car couldn't get away. I could hear the driver stammering nervously to himself in the driver's seat. Disable the driver, disable the van. I crept up beside the driver side door, hearing some light rock float out of the van. Keeping my weight low, I grabbed the handle of the door and softly began to pull it- it was unlocked. I smiled to myself and yanked it open the rest of the way. Just as he was about to scream, I grabbed around his shoulders and put him into a sleeper hold, silencing him as I dragged him from his seat. Once he was passed out on the ground, I crept forward around the van and looked into the store. One man was forcing the shop owner against the front counter, a gun pushed against his chin. One was perusing the aisles, grabbing bottles that interested him. One was watching the door sleepily, apathetically. The fourth was opening the cash register, stuffing wadded bills into a bag.

Step two: save the hostage. I needed to focus energies on getting him to safety. I grabbed three Batarangs from my belt. Taking a moment to aim, I threw all three at once, shattering all the main windows and the door of the bodega. The gunmen all ducked and shouted in shock, which gave me the perfect opportunity to rush into the store. I rolled over the broken glass and landed low behind a shelf of wine bottles before any of them could overcome their shock to look for me. I crept towards the back of the store, working my way around the shelf to creep up on the man that had been browsing the shelves.

"The hell, man, this is a grab and run!" one of the men yelled.

"It wasn't me! I didn't shoot em out!" the man watching the door yelled back as I snuck up behind the man in the aisle. I stood and kicked in his knees while one arm wrapped around his neck and the other hand came forward around his mouth, silencing groans of pain. I held him low against the ground until he stopped struggling, then let his unconscious body rest on the floor.

"Finish up, fast," one of the other men insisted. "We gotta move."

"Yeah, I'm on it," the man by the cashier said. He was opening something under the counter, and the man with the hostage was facing the counter; that meant neither could directly see the man guarding the door. Upon this realization, I hurried forward and grabbed him the same way I'd grabbed the last, choking him out. This left just two, and the man behind the counter was still ducking low, looking for something. While I had the chance, I threw my weight over the shoulders of the man holding the hostage against the counter. I pulled his head back and wedged it into my armpit, depriving him of air as I pulled him back away from the hostage. I cocked my head to the side, and the hostage hurried off towards the back of the store as the gunman lessened his struggle.

"Dave, what're you doin, you let him go…" the last man complained as he stood and looked over the counter at me. I dropped Dave's body and kicked my legs over the counter in a lunge at him as he dropped the bag and exclaimed, "Batman!"

I thrust my knees against his chest and he slammed into the wall behind him, sliding to the floor in a stunned puddle. I stood over him with a smile as he regained some of his senses and looked up at me, confused and dazed. "Not quite," I answered, then axe-kicked him. The men were all down, and the shop owner would be safe. I could hear him in the backroom, speaking loudly into a telephone; the police, hopefully. I walked back out of the shop and launched myself back onto the rooftop across from the bodega, rolling forward and hurrying a few rooftops away. I waited until I could hear the sirens and see the blue and red lights reflected on the light brick building. Mission accomplished.

"Batman, come in," I eventually called into my comm device. I'd wondered, while I fought, if this was his way of testing me. But if it was, why wouldn't he come and tell me how I did? "Batman, do you read me?" Still nothing. "Alfred, what's going on?"

"Miss Gordon… I'm not sure. I have his location, though, if you'd like it…"

"Where is he?" I asked, starting to get nervous. Even Alfred wasn't in on it?

"He's on Penitence Bridge just off of Miagani Island. I don't see any particular reason for him to be there, but he's silenced his microphone; I can't hear what's going on," he said. Miagani Island? That was ten miles away, at least. Before he had finished speaking, I was jumping rooftops and heading towards my motorcycle. It would take me a few minutes to get there, even at my hardest sprint. I dropped down into the alley, clamoring between fire escapes to cushion my landing, and climbed onto my bike as fast as I could.

"Connect me to Nightwing," I said urgently into my comm.

"Miss?" Alfred questioned me.

"Batman's not answering and I don't know enough to help him; I need his help," I tried to clarify.

"Miss… Batman would not want Nightwing's help…"

"Well I want him to answer me and I'm not getting that either. Connect me," I demanded as I started up the bike. It rumbled to life and I zipped out of the alley, scaring a drunk man who staggered down the sidewalk as my motorcycle jetted towards Miagani Island.

"Hey Alf, how's it hangin?" Dick answered, sounding a bit out of breath. I could hear his smile.

"Nightwing, Batman's not responding to his comm. Is he with you?" I asked, trying to hide my anxieties.

"He hasn't spoken to me all week. What's your location?"

"His last was on Penitence Bridge, off Miagani," I said, darting around traffic and between cars.

"Alright, I gotta handle something real quick. Meet you there," he said.

"Any update on his location?" I asked Alfred.

"None yet, Batgirl," he answered. As I arrived in Drescher, I whipped my bike into an alley, ditching it behind a dumpster. I shot my grapnel gun to the roof and hurried to the edge of the island, looking out over the bridge. I couldn't see anything conspicuous; just typical traffic and bad drivers. I hit my investigative mode goggles on to see if I could find his bio-readings amidst the darkness, but I didn't see anything.

"Alfred, he's not here," I said into my comm device. "Do you have anything?"

"No Miss… but…"

"But what?" I egged him on as he stammered. A crunch of gravel behind me drew my attention. Nightwing, in his stunning black and blue uniform, appeared on the roof behind me.

"You find him?" he asked, a touch of concern evident in his tone.

"No," I answered, looking with him back over the bridge. "He's not here… maybe he disabled his tracker, or it froze… they're waterproof trackers, maybe he's in the river…"

"Look, he's fine. This isn't the first time something like this has happened," Dick waved his hands in front of me, trying to keep me calm.

"This isn't… he could be at the bottom of the river, how do you know he's fine?" I asked indignantly. Bruce wouldn't have just abandoned me to deal with Two-Face's men, something must have happened.

"He's done this to me before, Batgirl, many times. You need to trust me. He'll resurface soon," he insisted.

"When has he done this before?" I demanded.

"Remember how I said I'd tell you everything you wanted to know if you…"

"When, Nightwing?" I asked, working hard to not use his name.

"Last time League of Shadows showed up," he conceded. Things were beginning to make sense, though I still felt like I didn't know anything. Why would he disappear for the League? Who was Talia to him? Why didn't he want us following him? Why would he just go dark with no warning? "I'm sure he's okay," Dick tried to comfort me. He must've seen the look of frustration on my face. He reached out a hand and placed it on my arm. "You can trust me. He's alright." I wanted to be angry, and to have someone to take that anger out on. But I did trust Dick, and I did envy the answers he might have given me.

"Why did you come?" I asked. "If you knew what this was, why he wasn't here. Why did you come?" He smiled out at the bridge, then returned his gaze to me.

"You needed me to," he smiled. I wanted to argue, but I bit my tongue. I looked out at the bridge and back again at him.

"What were you taking care of?" I asked. He cinched his brows together in confusion. "You said you need to take care of something before meeting me here. You did it fast." As I spoke, he seemed to remember and catch himself.

"Uh… yeah," he stammered out quickly, "nothing. Just… babysitting."

"Babysitting?"

"You know, picking up kids from daycare, tucking them in... that wasn't in your job description?" he cocked his head at me, producing a quiet laugh from me. "Why were you two separated anyways? Isn't he in babysitting mode with you still?"

"Two-Face's men hit a bodega on the other side of town… I was putting a stop to it," I explained.

"Everything go okay?" he asked.

"Of course," I answered casually. He smiled at me proudly.

"Well… if the Bat's away, I think you ought to get work done regardless. I could use some help in Bludhaven tonight, if you wanna join?" he offered. I shook my head and looked once more out at the bridge.

"Thanks, but… if I'm flying solo, it should be here in Gotham," I answered. He smiled widely at me and nodded.

"Yeah, figures," he said as he began to turn away. But he stopped a moment, his body perpendicular to mine, smiling over his shoulder at me. "You're doing great, Batgirl," he said. "He'll be proud." I tried to stifle a smile back at him, and nodded.

Dick leapt off the South side of the roof, heading towards Bludhaven. I leapt off the North side, looking for any traces of Bruce while patrolling the streets. I stopped a bar fight from taking place by mildly kicking the two drunken brawlers to the ground. I stopped a mugging down an alley by dropping down onto the shoulders of the attacker, flattening him. I carried the body of an overdosing homeless girl to a clinic, leaving her at the doorstep and knocking before flying away. It felt good to be a part of making Gotham's lives better.

It was almost 3:30 am when I crouched low on a rooftop, looking into the darkness, and I saw a brawl breaking out between four men near the Oblivion Bar. I wondered briefly if it had anything to do with Dick and the trail he had on Riddler, but he was nowhere in sight. Three men, all off-duty Bludhaven cops, were throwing punches and bully sticks at a fourth man who seemed to level their attacks easily. The fourth man wore dark jeans and a red hooded sweatshirt that hung low over his brow so I couldn't discern his appearance. He was handling himself well, but I wasn't about to leave him to fend for himself. All four of them could be knocked out, problem solved. I leapt off the roof and allowed my cape to carry me on the breeze towards the bar. I kicked my feet forward and was about to take out the man in the red sweatshirt, but he ducked at the last moment, as if he knew he was in danger. Instead of knocking him out, my kick landed at knee level of one of the cops that had been rushing him and knocked him to the ground in a scream of pain.

Well… not the one I'd intended, but one down all the same. I spun on the ball of my foot as one of the cops was about to yell out 'Batman!' and grabbed the bully stick in his hand, pulling him closer to me and elbowing him in the nose. In my periphery, I could see the man in the sweatshirt roundhouse kicking the other cop against a dumpster. I slammed my cop victim down on the ground and managed to diagonally kick up at the hooded man's face to keep him from pulverizing the cop. He somehow anticipated the kick, though, and managed to lean away just in time to miss it.

This guy had training. Good training.

I threw a few punches at him, knowing something would land soon and I could level him by focusing on sweeping his legs, but he blocked each of my punches in turn. The hood he wore bounced in place as he bobbed and I tried to glean a look at his face, but he kept his blocks tight and chin low.

Entirely unexpectedly, he grabbed one of my wrists as I extended my arm to punch and pulled me forwards. His arms wrapped around my torso and he held my wrists in an arm block. As I felt my arms lock in front of my chest, I was struck by the memory of Dick pulling this exact move on me in a training session. I felt stupid for repeating the mistake, but I also questioned myself for a moment: why did this stranger feel so much like Dick? It felt too familiar.

As the cop he'd been fighting tried to scramble away, I leaned back against the man and kicked my knees up against the cop's chest. I launched off him, knocking the cop to the ground in a heavy thud, and propelled the man in the sweatshirt against the ground behind me as I flipped behind him. I landed softly on my toes in a low lunge, just as my opponent scrambled up to his feet and ensured his hood was still in place. His fist was clenched tight, but I realized this time that it held something. I rushed at him, intending to wrap my legs around him in the move Dick had taught me and force him to the ground, but he threw what was in his hand at the ground. Light and smoke surrounded me. It was eerily familiar to the smoke bombs Batman used.

I switched into my Detective Mode as quickly as possible, searching the haze for him. I couldn't find him. It was like he'd evaporated. I tried peaking around the corner of the bar, ensuring he wasn't hiding just out of sight. He wasn't. He'd disappeared. I hurried back to the alley as the smoke dissipated to see the three cops still motionless on the ground. I searched the concrete for some kind of firework casing, something that might lead me to where this perp had gotten his smoke bomb. But I couldn't find anything.

Batman's didn't leave casings either; his smoke bomb casings were water soluble after penetration, so as the smoke released it dissolved and left no trace. I wondered if Batman had somehow dropped a smoke bomb somewhere and this perp had picked it up. Or if this perp had maybe taken them off Batman somehow.

A terrifying image struck me of Bruce stripped of his Batman uniform, bleeding out and vulnerable, while some mysterious thief made off with his gadgetry, tools, and suit.

I scanned the alley one last time, hoping to find a trace of Batman or the perp.

This guy could be a problem.


	11. Homework

After my encounter with the man in the alley, I hurried back to my motorcycle and headed to the Batcave. According to Alfred, Bruce still hadn't returned home or switched on his tracker. My nerves had been so unsettled when I realized the perp was using Wayne Enterprises grade smoke bombs that I felt like I couldn't go home now. Once I'd returned to the Batcave, I texted Colleen to build a cover story and, using a Wayne Tech app, post-timestamped a message to my dad that would read as if I'd sent it at midnight explaining that Colleen was going through a breakup and needed a sleepover. I settled in; I was staying here until Batman returned.

"Miss Gordon, would you like to rest in one of the guest rooms upstairs?" Alfred asked as I began disrobing and storing my Batgirl suit.

"Not now, Alfred," I said. "I want to find him."

"Miss Gordon, it's four in the morning. You've been awake almost 24 hours straight…" he tried to explain.

"I'll get some coffee, then," I argued.

"I must insist," Alfred spoke over me in a booming voice. I could see how he had raised Bruce with such authority. "I will monitor the Bat Computer for any updates. Please, go upstairs and shower. Get some coffee. Lay down. Take your phone and I will call the moment there is news." As much as I wanted to argue, I knew I had no legs to stand on. I smelled. I was tired. I was probably getting hangry.

"I'll have my phone," I ceded. "Call as soon as you know something." He nodded respectfully, and I left the Batcave and headed upstairs to the kitchen. Coffee first.

When I arrived in the kitchen, the coffee was already prepared in a French press by the stove. I poured myself a cup and rummaged in the fridge for some creamer. As I stirred my mug, I heard some creaking floorboards down the hall. My heightened paranoia forced me to place my mug down carefully, and I lowered in my stance, ready for a fight. I crept away from the island counter and peered around the corner and into the hallway.

"Jason?" I called out as I realized the source of the noise. His darkened shadow was just down the hall, wearing jeans and a light grey tee shirt. His hair looked disheveled and I could smell the pungent sweat of teenager from where I stood ten feet away. He had frozen and crouched low in the hall, possibly having the exact reaction I'd had to the sounds of an unknown person in the house.

"Oh. Hey Barbara," he said in reply, standing upright but lingering in the dark hallway.

"What are you doing up? It's the middle of the night," I asked, stepping fully into the dark of the hall. He shrugged and fidgeted down the hall.

"Some people get up at 4am," he said, shuffling his feet.

"Why'd you get up at 4am?" I asked again, wondering why he was avoiding my question.

"I, uh… have homework I didn't do last night," he said with a grumpy sigh, trudging closer to the kitchen. "Needed to get some coffee."

"Oh," I answered. "There's plenty left." I returned to the kitchen and pulled another mug out of the cabinet. "You've still got all day today before school tomorrow... you can't do it later?" I asked.

"Have stuff going on later... jus' wanted to get it over with," he answered as I poured him a cup of coffee. I realized he didn't know that Batman had ghosted me last night. I contemplated telling him. Would he be worried? Or, like Dick said, did this kind of thing happen more often than I'd like? Would he even care? "Do you take creamer?" I asked as I turned around. Only then did I get a clear, good look at Jason. His clothes were dirty and his hair was matted to his head with sweat. And he had a bloody lip. "Jesus, Jason, what happened to you?"

"What… oh, I… just grabbed the first clothes I saw. Not a morning person," he said, taking the coffee from my hand and sipping it black.

"No, you've got… your lip is bleeding," I said, wanting to help him clean up but not wanting to breach any boundaries. "And you look like you just ran a marathon."

"Oh. Yeah. I, um… I get night terrors," he said, his finger touching his lip tenderly as if he just realized it had busted.

"Night terrors?" I asked.

"Yeah, they're like nightmares but… real-er," he explained off-handedly. I knew what night terrors were and didn't need a basic explanation; what I was hoping for was an explanation of why.

"That's awful," I said. "You never remember what they're about, right?" Typically, night terror patients didn't recall what their episodes were about or that they even had an episode; but then again, typically night terror patients were small children, not teenagers.

"Um, yeah, actually," he said, turning and looking down into his coffee cup, "I always do." This struck me as odd- perhaps he had been misdiagnosed. I lowered my cup and leaned back against the counter behind me.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked noncommittally. I didn't want to make him uncomfortable, but anything that caused the state he was currently in while he was sleeping is cause for concern.

"Um… not really," he said with a small smile up at me over his coffee cup. I smiled back.

"That's okay," I replied. He looked back down into his coffee before taking another sip.

"Bruce around?" he asked, looking up from his coffee. I felt my heart stop in my chest and ran through the excuses I could give him.

 _He's still out working._

 _He's berating Dick in Bludhaven._

 _He's being held hostage by a secret association of ninjas._

"He should be home soon," I settled on. He nodded back somewhat nonchalantly; maybe this was commonplace after all.

"Damn… kinda wanted his help on some homework," he said with a shrug as he began to turn away.

"Anything I can help with?" I offered. It was nice talking to him, and I wanted to understand him better. He wasn't like Bruce, all mission and business and seriousness; and he wasn't like Dick, all flirt and tease and sarcasm. He had his shields up and deep scars, but he seemed like a good, genuine person underneath.

He eyed me skeptically. "You want to help with my homework?" I lolled my eyes to the side.

"Well, it kinda depends on what kind of homework it is," I specified. Though, in truth, I was game for anything. I just wanted to get to know him.

"I need to write a paper about Machiavelli and his book, _The Prince_ ," he answered. I inwardly grimaced: I'd always been bored silly with book reports and literary analysis. Why write a paper about something you can process internally in minutes? But I understood the value and importance.

"Sure, I can help with that," I shrugged. "Why don't you go shower and get ready for the day… I need to shower too, anyways," I remembered, looking down at myself. I was in the tight fitness leggings and black halter exercise top that I wore beneath my Batgirl suit. I was so focused on getting to know Jason that I'd completely forgotten about my own disheveled appearance.

"Yeah," he nodded, confirming I did indeed need a shower, "rough night?" I let out a breathy chuckle and nodded.

"A good one," I said, recalling taking out Two-Face's men and saving victims of muggings and barfights. But remembering that Batman was still out there, alone, lost, made me nervous. I tried to keep a forced smile on my face; I didn't want to worry Jason.

"Yeah, well… I'm gonna go shower. Come up in twenty, if you wanna help," he said, starting to leave the kitchen.

"Yeah… oh wait!" I called after him, and he stopped in the doorway to answer me. "I have no idea where your room is." He smiled and laughed back at me.

"I'll come get you then," he said, starting down the hall towards the stairs.

After a good shower in the library bathroom, I changed into the leggings and cotton tee shirt I had brought from home. While I waited at the base of the stairs in the Great Room for Jason to come get me, I texted Alfred:

 _Any news yet?_

He responded quickly: _None yet._

I shook my head and looked down at my phone. I considered texting Dick. Wasn't this concerning? Shouldn't we be talking about this? I couldn't not be worried.

"Up here, Batgirl," Jason called from the top of the stairs. I put my phone in my pocket and tried not to think of it, bounding up the right grand staircase to follow him. We turned the corner at the top of the staircase and I peeked in a room as we passed it. It had a large, queen-sized bed with a dark blue comforter. There were books on shelves and folded clothes on top of the dresser. Boxing gloves rested on top of a trunk in the corner of the room with a roll of athletic tape beside it. A yoga mat sat rolled up in one corner, straps hung over it. But we didn't turn into this room; we walked past it. It wasn't grand enough to be Bruce's room- so whose was it?

The room we turned into was the next one. And I could tell before I was inside it that it was Jason's room.

The wafting, pungent smell of sweaty, teenage boy poured from the room like Bath & Body Works had created the scent. Used athletic tape was on the floor, bundled in sticky wads. Used towels, boxers, tee shirts, and socks littered the floor. Textbooks, homework, and a laptop sat in the middle of the floor, a makeshift homework dashboard to sit cross legged at. The bed, however, was made: the pillows were neatly fluffed and in place, and the comforter pulled up into place to conceal the sheets below. The comforter was rumpled and creased, as if Jason had thrown his body haphazardly on top of the comforter and slept on top of the blankets.

"Sorry… I don't like Alfred cleaning up my stuff," Jason said, reaching down and grabbing his laptop and the book from the ground. "He sneaks in to do it sometimes, but… I'm a nester," he smiled at me proudly. I laughed under my breath: why did I get the inkling that Dick had taught him to say that? "Let's go to the library, it's cleaner in there," he said. I took one last glance around the room, taking in the sight of his dirtied socks and smelly shoes and tired, faded sweatshirts, before following him from the room. As we passed it again, I let my eyes scan the first bedroom we'd passed with the boxing gloves and dark blue comforter. This time, I saw a few more details: a picture frame on the bedside table and a poster on the wall, too dark to see; formal shoes lined up by the dresser; what looked like a large leotard hanging from the doorknob to the closet. I logged these details for later, wondering if I could investigate further another time.

The library was situated in the back-right corner of the second floor. The room was at least two stories high, with full bookcases that stretched to the ceiling and lined the entire perimeter of the room. I looked around in wonderment and speculated as to how the books were organized (I saw no monikers of the Dewey Decimal System, at least). Three large leather sofas sat in the middle of the room, situated around an area rug and coffee table. A desk and regal chair stood to one side, clear except for an ink well and old-fashioned wax seal set. An old, expensive looking chess set sat prepared on one side of the room with two high backed chairs. But Jason led me to two large lounging chairs and started setting up his homework.

"So you read this book?" Jason asked me as he sat on the floor in front of a chair, opening his laptop and clicking through his files.

"In middle school, yeah," I nodded, still taking in the lush library.

"Middle school? Kinda heavy reading for a kid," he said.

"I've always been a big reader," I explained, sitting down in the chair beside him.

"Do you even remember it?" he asked, looking dubiously up at me.

"I have a really good memory," I answered with a smile. In fact, I had an eidetic memory- once I saw or read something, it seemed to rattle around in my brain forever. But I didn't need to brag…

"Okay, well… what do you remember about _The Prince_?" he asked, pulling the copy of the book closer to him and flipping through the pages.

"Did you read it?" I asked. He looked up at me with raised eyebrows, forcing a look of innocence.

"I'm more of a Jane Austen fan," he answered. I laughed to myself under my breath.

"I said I'd help, Jason, I'm not doing it _for_ you," I crossed my arms.

"No, no, no… just talk to me about it. I googled it. Wikipedia says it's a philosophy book about political structures and colonization and royalty and stuff, so I get the basics," he said.

"Okay… well, yeah, those things are all discussed. But the greater message is more important. When people say that someone is acting 'Machiavellian,' they're referring to his more general philosophy. He's the source of the phrase, 'the end justifies the means,'" I explained. He took this note on his laptop.

"So, like, as long as the day is saved it doesn't matter how you saved it?" Jason clarified.

"Yes, that's the basis of his philosophy," I nodded. "And he took it to macabre extents. For example, he believed if we want to punish criminals, we shouldn't kill them but force them to rot in prison for the rest of their lives, knowing life was going on just out of the reach."

"Sounds like Batman," Jason noted. I paused and my breath stopped a moment.

"Well… kind of. But also, no," I explained. "So, Batman refuses to kill. If the 'end' he's going for is ending crime in Gotham, Machiavelli would say that justifies killing criminals to ensure they don't return. But Batman refuses to kill."

"So, what's the opposite of Machiavellian?" he asked. I shrugged.

"There's not necessarily a philosopher who opposed him, but you could say generally… principled. Caring that things are done a certain way, not just so they can be done," I said. He sat quietly, staring at his laptop screen without typing.

"Do you think that's the better way? Batman's way?" he asked. The question took me with a bit of surprise; it was rare that I'd heard Machiavellianism discussed in a positive context. The way I was raised, the way I viewed the world all told me that principles mattered.

"I think so," I answered honestly. "Though everyone has a level of Machiavellianism in them… there's an interesting psychological profile called The Dark Triad test that measures an individual's level of Machiavellianism, narcissism, and psychopathy. The idea is that no one ever scores a perfect zero, even if they're a really good person. But police and courts use it often to determine the sanity and psychological states of criminals; the higher the scores, the more dangerous." He nodded to himself and looked down at his hands.

"I bet I'd score higher on Machiavellianism," he said. I tilted my head at him, curious.

"You think so?" I asked. He nodded to himself. "Why?" I provoked him to explain.

"I mean… I'm sure Bruce told you. I lived on the streets for a long time," he explained. "I had to steal to live. Sometimes I had to hurt people. I didn't want to, but… it meant I'd stay alive. And that's what mattered… that I was safe and fed. And the means didn't mean anything to me." I nodded softly, not wanting to interrupt.

"Bruce told me… about the first time you met him," I said. Jason looked down at my feet, as if embarrassed or skeptical. "Batman was nothing to you. And you stepped up and saved his life, even though he meant nothing to you. That doesn't sound to me like someone who only considers his own ends."

"Yeah, but… I wanted to kill Joker that day," Jason said, looking up at me with serious eyes. "And I didn't have a problem for a second with those means." His eyes seemed to be asking me a question: _am I a bad person?_ I tightened my lips and tried to smile at him.

"But you didn't," I reminded him. "And you're here now… and I can tell, you care about your principles now." He nodded, still mulling over the ideas he had about himself. I wanted to find a way to comfort him, show him that he was above the brutality he feared within him, but I didn't know how. My phone vibrated: it was Alfred.

 _He's on his way back now._

My attention jolted awake: Bruce was coming home.

"Oh, um…" I stammered to Jason, "I'm so sorry, I've gotta…"

"Go, you're good," Jason said, leaning over his laptop. "This gives me a lot to write about. Thanks." I smiled and hurriedly bolted from the library, rushing down the stairs and into the study on the first floor. Once the elevator arrived in the Batcave, I hurried towards the Bat computer to see Alfred at the monitors, logging information and watching news updates.

"Where was he?" I asked.

"He's just arrived back on mainland soil, he should be arriving in a few minutes," Alfred answered.

"But where _was_ he, Alfred?" I asked again. Alfred turned to me with tired eyes.

"When he switched his tracker back on, he was returning from Metropolis," he said. My eyes grew wide.

"Metropolis?" I asked. Was something major going on, something that Superman needed help with? Bruce had just recently explained how he didn't want us spending our time helping cities other than Gotham, but had something happened that required world saving? "He didn't say anything to you about what he was doing there?"

"When he turned his tracker back on, he told me he'd be back at the cave shortly and that he needed me to take Master Todd to his appointments this morning. That's all," he said. I could tell Alfred knew more but was keeping the truth from me. Fine. I bit my cheek in frustration and waited.

In just a few minutes, I heard the roar of the Batmobile as it entered the cave. It pulled onto the launching pad and went from 30mph to stoic in a second without so much as a squeak from the tires. Batman vaulted out of the car in his suit, striding towards me and Alfred casually as if the night had gone entirely as planned.

"Did you take care of Two-Face's men?" he demanded of me. My jaw dropped a little in incredulity.

"Yes, I… where have you been?" I asked.

"Alfred, pull up the video on Barbara's night. Find the story robbery," he said, removing his cowl from his head.

"Bruce, you disappeared! You were supposed to stay within a four mile radius, and you disappeared," I followed him as he went to the cage that held his suit. He removed his arm guards and began putting them away.

"Something required my immediate attention…"

"You turned off your comms and your tracker, I thought something terrible had happened."

"I didn't want you following. You're not ready yet," he insisted.

"But I'm ready to patrol Gotham on my own? You need to trust me, Bruce, that's how this works," I argued.

"When you're ready, I'll brief you on all that you…"

"I'm not your sidekick, Bruce, I'm your friend," I insisted. I could hear my emotions in my voice; I could hear Dick's advice in my ears; I could feel my frustration reddening my cheeks. I needed to calm myself down. "You need to trust me, you need to talk to me. Were you with Superman?" Bruce pulled off his boots and looked at me with what might as well have been an eye roll. "Why were you in Metropolis?"

"I was investigating a lead," he said.

"A lead on what?" I asked. He pulled off his leg bracers and stored them, giving me a hard look before turning away and walking back to the Bat computer. "Bruce, I need you to be honest with me…"

"The League of Shadows is in Metropolis," he answered, confirming Dick's suspicions. I felt myself getting angry. "I followed one of their disciples from here in Gotham, trying to locate where they're hiding." He began to scroll through my footage on the consoles as he spoke. "I've narrowed it down to a few city blocks."

"But if they're in Metropolis," I started, "shouldn't they be Superman's problem? You told me we needed to keep our focus on Gotham…"

"The League affects Gotham. Gotham has been a part of their plans for centuries, it's no coincidence they're staying just across the bay," he answered, "and I don't trust Superman to handle them." I had my doubts, and was still incredibly frustrated with Bruce, but I knew better than to push the issue. This was all I was getting out of him for now, and there were more important things to discuss. "You ought to use your detective mode more frequently," Bruce advised me as he reviewed me defending the store against Two-Face's men. "There could have been more men in the back of the van. But your takedowns are clear and simple. Good work."

"Two-Face's men weren't a problem," I said, nudging him aside and fast forwarding through the evening. I tried to move incredibly quickly through the part of the night I'd spent on the rooftop with Dick, when we were searching for Batman. I rushed through the footage to the end of the night: my encounter with the man in the alley. "This guy, on the other hand…" I let him watch in silence as he studied our combat. Bruce said nothing as he watched the man lock me in his arms, and I watched his eyes wince as the man threw a smoke bomb to disappear. When the video reached the place when I had given up looking for the man, I hit pause and turned to Bruce to see his jaw tight. "The smoke bomb he threw was Wayne Enterprises grade technology. The casing dissolved. I thought he'd taken it off you… I thought you might have been…" I trailed off. He got the idea. And he didn't look happy.

"Alfred," Bruce called back without looking away from the screens. "Reopen the case file on Red Hood. He's back."


	12. The Red Hood

"A long time ago, before the rise of the Joker, Red Hood was at large for several crimes. The ACE Chemicals Heist, digital robbery of $300,000, and millions in counterfeiting, among several other raps. Before Commissioner Loeb's death, I was operating under the theory that Red Hood might actually be a series of copycats all wearing the same outfit or a group operating under the guises of a single man. After the Christmas eve incident with Joker, Red Hood's trail went cold. We archived the file. But this encounter last night…" Bruce trailed off, watching the monitors replaying the video in slow motion as he sipped the cup of coffee Alfred had brought him.

"You think it's the same guy?" I asked. Bruce hesitated a long moment.

"No," he said reluctantly, like he was still considering the question even after he answered it, "but I think there's a connection. We just need to find out what." The video continued until I'd turned to see the hooded man on the ground after I'd leveled him. "There," he said, pausing the video. He'd stopped on a frame of the man with the sweatshirt, checking to ensure the hood was still raised and covering his face. "Did you get a look at his features? Race, hair color, anything?"

"No," I answered. "He did a really good job of keeping his face covered. And it was dark. There's nothing more I can tell you than what you can discern on your own from this video." Bruce nodded.

"Male assailant. Medium build. Probably around six feet tall. Significant training in Muay Thai, Krav Maga, and Taekwondo. Confident and capable… until you almost showed his face," he noted under his breath. I considered the points he was making. These were all forms of combat that Bruce had trained me in, the same ones he had trained Dick in. I remembered the way that the man had grabbed me and pulled me into an arm lock, one that Dick had used against me in training as well. And the man had used Wayne Enterprises weaponry. It didn't feel right, but… what if this man was Dick? They were fighting outside of a bar that Dick was patrolling… it made logical sense to assume it was him…

"Master Bruce, Jason needs to leave for his first appointment in ten minutes. Would you still like me to take him?" Alfred asked. Bruce blinked away from the screen and towards Alfred.

"No, Alfred," he said, trying to put his Bat-self away and awaken his Bruce side. "I'll take him myself, thank you." He turned to me briefly. "You've been awake and working since 5am yesterday. You should rest."

"I'll be fine," I answered.

"Rest," he insisted as he turned from the monitors and headed out of the cave. But I stared at the monitors, fast forwarding through the video until the man threw down his smoke bomb and disappeared. I watched the video of myself searching for him through the alley and down the street to find nothing. I rewound again to the last shot I had of him before he threw the bomb, his tall and serious figure silhouetted by darkness.

Is that you, Dick?

* * *

On my way home, I couldn't help but sate my curiosity. The Oblivion Bar was still closed, it being only 9am. But I didn't want to check inside the bar; I wanted to check the alley. The bodies of the off-duty cops were gone; I supposed they'd come to and gotten themselves either home or to a hospital. Looking at the ground, I could see the dirt dragged in patterns showing our fight. Taking one last peek around the sidewalk to ensure no one was watching, I stepped into the alley and took the position I had been in just before the man had thrown his smoke bomb. Facing where the man had been only hours before, I could still feel the adrenaline of the fight that had surged through me.

I remembered when he had locked me in his grasp, trying to disable me. It was a move that Dick had pulled on me before, one that I had taken too much pleasure in. I'd secretly savored the feeling of his hot breath against my neck, the feeling of the hands on my wrists as he locked me in his embrace. I remembered the first time he'd done it.

" _Give up yet?" he'd flirtatiously asked, and I got chills from the top of my scalp down my spine as I could feel him smiling just behind my ear._

" _You wish," I'd replied, sweeping his ankle out from under him and rocking my weight back into him._

It was his move, and it's no surprise I escaped the lock since I used a different method of escape than the move I'd used in training. But I didn't get the same feeling I'd had when Dick grabbed me when this man did. His grip wasn't the same. The way he held me tight to him wasn't the same. I couldn't explain how or why, but I felt in my core that this man wasn't Dick.

But then, why were they so similar?

I examined the area where he had dropped his smoke bomb, still finding no remnants of the casing. Then I looked over the area he'd been standing when he dropped it. I could see a smudge in the dirt where he must have pushed himself away at high speed, but I couldn't see any signs of footfalls escaping the alley. So he ran away, but he didn't run out of the alley…

He went _up._

My gaze turned to the dumpster, where I could see an edge of the lid was bent down from the force of someone jumping on it. Diagonally across from there, I saw a faded smudge of dirt from where a sneaker had scraped against the wall. From there on, there was a fire escape the man could have grabbed onto. He had parkoured out of the alley; but he must have frozen on the fire escape, otherwise I would have heard him in the clanging noise of metal.

The Red Hood had crouched there and watched me as I searched for him, examined the smoke bomb he'd dropped, and left the injured bodies in his wake. He'd watched me leave.

Maybe those cops didn't make it back to safety, after all.

* * *

I was going on hour 30 with no sleep, but I couldn't tear myself away from this work now. I was the one who had failed to look up after that fight with Red Hood; because of me, those cops were still in danger after I left. I needed to know if my negligence had gotten them killed, or worse. And selfishly, I needed to know if I could trust my gut- if Dick was involved or not.

So, after calling in to the library and letting them know I needed a personal day, I arrived at the Bludhaven central precinct with a brown paper bag in my hand. I walked in the front doors and approached the desk sergeant manning what was essentially reception at the police department.

"Hi, um… I'm looking for an officer? Richard Grayson?" I asked. The sergeant looked sleepily at me across his desk.

"What is this pertaining to?"

"He forgot his lunch… he's my boyfriend," I offered my made up an excuse. I wasn't even sure if Dick was working today, but I didn't want to ask Bruce anything until I understood what was going on. Maybe Dick wanted to help Gotham again and was sneaking around in civilian clothes, or maybe Dick had messed up in a big way and dropped equipment somewhere and he was trying to fix it on his own. The cop pursed his lips and his eyes scanned down my torso, taking in the outfit of jeans and a V-neck sweater under a fluffy green coat that I had hastily thrown on just before coming to Bludhaven. He smiled at me lightly with tightened lips.

"Yeah. Okay," the officer said as he picked up a phone. "He's a beat cop, right?" I nodded in the affirmative, and the officer dialed a number quickly. "Yeah, Sergeant, I got someone up front here to see Grayson. Says she's his girlfriend, and he forgot to pack his lunch today." He waited a long moment, then something the Sergeant had said in return made him giggle to himself. "Yeah, you got it." He hung up the phone and looked at me with a grin of delight. "He should be up in a minute."

"Thank you," I said politely, considering the fact that the cops were likely giving Dick hell. I turned away and smiled to myself at that idea. I could understand why he terrorized me at work so much; it was fun to swoop in and throw a wrench in his morning.

"Babe!" he called from behind me when he arrived in the lobby of the precinct. The few derelicts and bail posters that cluttered the lobby with me all chaffed at his energy and excitement as he loudly entered the lobby, and I did my best to keep my tight smile from turning into a loud laugh. "You're so sweet, you brought me lunch?" he sweetly said as he approached, his arms outstretched. The realization struck me that I'd given him an inch and he was about to take the whole mile. He put one arm on the forearm holding the paper bag and the other around my waist, and he started in with his lips puckered to give me a kiss. All I could do was turn my face in time to let his kiss land on my cheek clumsily, instead of my lips. He pulled back and looked me up and down with a satisfied smile. "You look tired, honey… did I keep you up too late last night?" he sweetly said, and I could feel my cheeks reddening as it became even harder to keep from laughing.

"Can we talk for just a sec?" I asked in a meek voice. He gestured towards the front doors of the precinct, then turned back to the desk sergeant with a nod of his cap.

"I'll be back in just a sec, Sarge," he said in his most charming tone. We stepped out the front doors and I pulled him into a shadowed corner behind a pillar. "Didn't know we had made it official…"

"You… ass," I laughed out at him as I smacked his arm.

"Just playing the cards you dealt me, Barb," he smiled. We stood close in our corner, avoiding the gaze of anyone on the streets and the aim of the security cameras. "Bruce make it home?" he asked more seriously.

"Around 5," I answered. He took off his BPD hat, looking up at me through his dangling black bangs.

"Was I right?" he asked, though he didn't look like he wanted the satisfaction of me saying he was; he almost looked like he wished he weren't.

"Yeah," I answered. He shook his head and looked off to the side for a moment before returning his gaze to me.

"Glad to hear it… so why are you here? It looks like you've been up all night," he noted.

"Thanks," I answered sarcastically, "I have been. I ran into someone late last night."

"Who?"

I didn't answer just yet. In my heart I felt sure that this man was not him, but I was here because I suspected him. The evidence all pointed to _him._

"What did you do last night, after we split up?" I asked quietly. He shrugged.

"Went back to Bludhaven… ordered a pizza… watched some Netflix," he answered. It was Dick's way of saying, " _nothing of note._ " I looked down at my hands. "Barb, come on, what's this about?" I turned to the side, not wanting to let myself look at him, as I let out a tense sigh.

"I ran into someone last night that… I thought it was you," I said. He furrowed his brow at me, and I noticed the swiveling security camera capturing our image on tape. I shook my head and forced a smile.

"What do you mean…"

"We can't talk about this here. I can give you the particulars later, but… look, there were three off duty Bludhaven cops involved in a fight right outside of The Oblivion Bar. I left them unconscious but… I need to know if they made it home okay," I said. He started to form a question, but it stopped in his throat as he realized we really couldn't talk about this here. He let out a heavy breath instead.

"I'll do some digging. But it would help if I knew what the hell we were talking about," he said, brushing a hand through his shining black hair.

"Meet me for lunch?" I asked, leading him back towards the precinct doors. He laughed under his breath.

"Didn't you just bring me lunch?" he asked quietly as I led him back into the waiting area of the precinct. I smiled back.

"I think you'll have room for dessert," I answered as I handed him the paper bag that held the only thing I could quickly grab from my fridge: a half a lemon. For the benefit of our story and the desk sergeant, I leaned in and kissed Dick's cheek. When I pulled away, he had a satisfied smile on his face.

"I'll see you later, babe," he called after me as I left.

I got back in my car, smiling to myself at our joking shenanigans. But as I considered Red Hood and Dick's involvement and how uncertain I felt about everything that had gone on the night before, the smile faded from my face. I drove home quickly, hurrying upstairs to my apartment and setting an alarm for 12:30 pm before falling onto my bed and passing out.

* * *

Dick had texted me a location for lunch before I'd woken up from my two-hour nap. We met at the Mr. Pickle Deli in Bludhaven. When I arrived, he was already sitting at a diner table with two cups of water. He leaned back in his seat, one arm resting on the table and the other casually wrapped around the back of the empty chair beside him. He somehow looked relaxed and terrifically comfortable in the metal frame of a chair. He grinned at me, his eyes on me before I even opened the door to the establishment. He stood when I walked in and had a cocky grin as his arms stretched wide and he said, "babe, I missed you," and leaned in to grab me. I wanted to resist his embrace with a snarky comment, to push him away with a snide retort and make it clear I didn't want to play the role of fake girlfriend anymore, but I remembered quickly that we were on Bludhaven turf, at a deli not too far from his precinct. While there were no other cops here, the woman at the counter looked up upon my entrance and various other patrons had taken note of us. I couldn't betray our cover story.

So, awkwardly caught between active resistance and reluctant inaction, I froze with my hands at chest level just in time for him to engulf me in a hug. His arms wrapped entirely around me so that each hand reached down across my back to the opposite hip. His face tucked easily into my hair, messy and haphazardly pulled back as I'd run out the door. His lips were just by my ear. My hands, still tensely raised as he hugged me, had landed on his chest, where the feel of his police badge on his left breast pocket felt cold under my palm.

For the briefest of moments that lasted only maybe two seconds, I closed my eyes and let my impulsive imagination believe that this moment was real. My shoulders softened and released a tension I didn't realize I'd been holding; my chin dropped, coming to rest just above his clavicle in a small depression in front of his trapezius muscles that felt designed for me; I felt his heart beat beneath his shirt, the muscles in his chest masking the slight thump beneath my palm. And though it was an imagined moment, one that signified nothing and was for the benefit of onlookers only, it felt for a half a second like it might be real for him too. His hands were soft but possessive on my hips, his embrace tight without oppression, and his mouth seemed to breathe me in.

But the imagined moment ended promptly when Dick quietly whispered in my ear, "you know I'm never gonna let this go, right?" My eyes snapped open and I pushed him quickly out of the hug with an urgency that was directed at myself: _stop it, Barbara._

"Yeah, well," I said as I hurriedly sat down, brushing a rogue strand of hair behind my ear near where his lips had been. He sat down across from me with that self-satisfied grin and leaned over the table. "We good to talk?" I asked in a low tone, attempting to not be overheard by the diners at the counter.

"Yeah," he said, louder than I'd been. "We're good here. What's up?" In a low voice, I explained everything that had happened to me the night before: the man in the sweatshirt, the fighting techniques that reminded me so strongly of him, the smoke bomb of Wayne Enterprises caliber, how he'd slipped away parkouring out of the alley, and how he'd waited in hiding until I'd left. Finally, I finished with the name Bruce had mentioned: Red Hood. By the time I was done recounting the story, his brow was creased as he thought, his eyes low.

"Did you find anything out about the cops?" I asked, my eyes wide and nervous. Dick hurriedly shook his head with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

"Yeah… Rich was one of 'em, only one to come into work today. Has a messed up nose, but the other two guys are a bit worse off. A broken knee and a ruptured disc. His story goes, they were stopping a mugging when the Batman attacked them. So I'm guessing you had something to do with that," he trailed off, rubbing his chin.

"I don't know what you mean," I smiled modestly to myself as I looked down at the table. So none of them were killed; they were all okay. Then why did the perp hide on the fire escape until I'd left.

"And it's not you," I clarified, stating it although it was really a question.

"After I… left you last night, I seriously just… did a little more work, then went home. I was in bed by three, scout's honor," he said, raising two fingers. I grimaced at him. I could guarantee Dick was never a boy scout…

"And there's no way you could've dropped any equipment, something someone might have picked up and figured out how to use," I said, again as if it were a statement even though it was a question.

"No, it wasn't me, it's… look," he said, leaning towards me suddenly over the table with his hands flexed. Now that our eyes met, I realized he looked mildly frantic. Stressed. Panicked? "It's probably nothing… I mean, Red Hood was a big deal back then because it was a copycat problem. The get up is a red hoodie: anyone can get that from Walmart, you know? This is probably just some asshole copycat that was around in the old days. It's nothing to worry about."

"A criminal copycat that's beating up dirty cops outside _Riddler's bar_?" I whispered. "That doesn't make you suspicious?"

"Well, yeah, of course it does…"

"And the fact that this guy had the upper hand on me, could've leapt off that fire escape and gotten at me when my guard was down, or at least could have finished what he'd started on those cops after I'd gone… none of that concerns you?" I asked.

"It's not that it doesn't concern me, Barb, it's just that…" he stopped abruptly when the waitress came and dropped off two plastic red baskets filled with potato chips and Ruben sandwiches.

"You two need more water?" she asked apathetically. Dick had withdrawn his hands and his gaze was fixed on the table in front of him.

"We're okay, thanks," I nodded up at her. She left as indolently as she'd arrived and Dick looked back across the table at me.

"I think… you're gonna take this the wrong way, but I think… that you had a crazy night…"

"Miss, can I get a box for this?" I turned back to the waitress. I knew where this was going and he was right: I wasn't in the mood to hear about how irrational my suspicions were.

"Hear- hear me out," he insisted, leaning over his sandwich. "It was a long night, Bruce was a total ass and ditched you, you kicked ass, and then this guy appeared and really threw you off. I'm not saying it was nothing, but…"

"But you think I should drop it?" I finished the sentence for him.

"That's not what I was gonna…"

"Dick, even Bruce sees that this is noteworthy. You're not gonna convince me I'm losing my mind over this, this is a _big deal…_ "

"I just… don't want you to waste your time," he said with a shrug. I could see a nervousness or reluctance in his eyes. But my lack of sleep and sureness that he was wrong trumped my empathy.

"Yeah, me either," I said, getting up and grabbing my purse.

"Barb…"

"See you, Dick," I said in as neutral a voice as I could muster, and I walked past the waitress carrying the box to my table and out of the diner.

I went home and slept the rest of the day. I knew that it was terrible for my sleep cycle to sleep this much during the day; I'd slowly become nocturnal if I didn't just push through the tiredness to wait until night to sleep. But after essentially 37 hours awake with only a two hour nap, I needed to recharge. Furthermore, I needed energy for tonight. I was going out again to see if I could find anything on Red Hood; I couldn't just let it go.

After a good long nap, I awoke to the sounds of dad coming home. I sprang quickly out of bed and wiped my face with a cleansing wipe before leaving my room to say hi.

"Hey stranger," he said, his voice far more energetic than he looked. The sagging bags under his eyes made him look far older than he was, and the tired slump of his shoulders spoke of a long day hunched over menial paperwork. "How's Colleen doing?"

"Huh…" I started, and quickly remembered my alibi, "oh... yeah, she's good, she um… she'll be fine. Guy was a loser anyways, she's better off." He chortled in my direction.

"You look tired… long night?" he asked, hanging his coat up and starting towards the kitchen.

"Yeah, just… talked a lot," I stammered out. That's what sleepovers consisted of, right? Not having a lot of girlfriends growing up, I only had the portrayal of them in movies and books to go off of.

"You eat dinner already?" he asked, peeking into the kitchen. I closed my eyes with frustration at myself.

"No, I… totally forgot," I said, wishing I had cooked something before he'd gotten home. He smiled at me.

"You look exhausted, sweetie," he said, hesitating just outside of the kitchen and staring at me. "Go lay down… I'll make dinner and you can turn in early tonight."

"Actually," I started, hating what I was about to say, "I'm gonna hang out with Colleen again tonight. She asked if we could go out… she wants to get back in the game, you know?"

"And you're gonna take her?" dad asked me, his head low and looking at me through the tops of his eyes, dubiously.

"She doesn't have anyone else to go with, dad," I excused myself. "And I think it's the smart thing for her to do, so…" Dad eyed me as he let out a big sigh.

"Well… go lay down while I make dinner then. You'll be sleeping on your feet if you go clubbing in this state," he shook his head at me and stepped into the kitchen. As I heard him open the refrigerator in search of food, I smiled to myself. I hated lying.

I laid back down and texted Colleen about my alibi.

 _We're still going out tonight right?_

She responded quickly, _Yeah, totes. Want me to pick u up?_

 _Nope,_ I responded, _I'll see you there._

Part of me wondered if she'd actually go to a club on a Sunday night, or if she'd just be relaxing at home in her sweatpants.

* * *

I had told Batman I was doing random patrols tonight. He was happy to accept that, as he seemed completely focused on whatever was going on with the League of Shadows in Metropolis. Though he was staying within the confines of Gotham tonight, he was off on independent errands that he didn't want me involved in.

Fine. I had work I didn't want him meddling in yet, either.

At 1 am, I stepped onto the roof of The Oblivion Bar. I crossed to the edge of the building and looked down into the alley I had fought in the previous night. No movement. The bar itself was relatively quiet. Nothing important was going on. I leapt over the edge of the roof and onto the top of the fire escape, descending to the level that the Red Hood would have climbed onto the night before. I crouched low, examining the distance between the dumpster and the fire escape. The height of the jumps and speed of his escape was impressive but, more impressively, he'd done it without making any noise. I considered how the perp had leapt up here and stayed here, silent and unmoving, as I'd searched the sidewalks for him and given up. Then, when the cops he'd been attacking were still below, unconscious with their wounds, he didn't attack them again. He could have killed them, kidnapped them, stolen from them, but he seemingly didn't. Why does a man stay hidden at his own crime scene if he didn't want to continue the crimes he was committing?

He either stayed to extract evidence he had left behind… or he simply stayed long enough to watch me go. Because he didn't want to be discovered.

Because he was afraid I would discover who he was.


	13. Discovery

Days passed quietly. I caught up on sleep and went to work at Wayne Tech, splitting my time between researching Batman's open cases and doing work of my own. Bruce's attentions were still primarily occupied with the League of Shadows, followed shortly by Two-Face's crime spree and Killer Croc's hidden agenda. I kept close eye on these cases, minus the League of Shadows, but spent my extra time digging into Dick's past.

Something was off. Having realized that the Red Hood hadn't wanted to hurt me like he hurt the cops, then let me escape the alley after I thought he'd gone, and had hidden from me until I stopped searching, all led me to believe that he knew me; and Dick urging me to not worry about it only made me more suspicious of him. The perp fought me with _his_ moves, used _his_ gear (well, technically, our gear- but still). All signs pointed to Dick and the left side of my brain screamed at me: _it's Dick, dummy, confront him!_

But something in me- the right side of my brain, or my heart, or some deep seeded weakness for sarcastic, strong men- refused to believe that it was Dick. It didn't _feel_ like Dick, I didn't get the goosebumps I typically got when his rough and tender hands touched my skin. And if it was him, why wouldn't he just admit it? Why would he be hiding another identity from me, from Bruce?

The only excuses I could conjure were either too unrealistic or too sinister for me to believe. I didn't want to believe them.

So I used my time in my office to dig into his file, his evolution from circus child to orphan to Robin to Nightwing. Some of the information I had known. It was easy to discern from his name and athletic abilities (including his extreme flexibility that topped even my own abilities) that he was a member of the Flying Graysons. Everyone knew about them when I was a kid- had they been famous today, they'd have a reality show on E! about their familial shenanigans. But, back then, they were just amazing showstoppers: like the Osmond family or the Jackson Five. They were just a cool, famous family that everyone wished was theirs.

Until the accident. Which, of course, wasn't an accident. And, of course, it happened in Gotham. I remembered watching the news with my dad when it happened, remembered the reports saying that several notable Gothamites were present, including Bruce Wayne. The casefile on the Batcomputer clarified that the incident was caused by mobster Tony Zucco, who had attempted to extort money from the traveling circus. Not knowing how Gotham business was done, the circus owners refused to pay him- Zucco got his revenge by ruining their premiere event. The files had a video of the incident; a recording by one of the cameras that zoomed in on the acrobats, for spectators in the nose bleeds to get a closer look.

Swinging from trapezes, the Grayson parents were performing a triple layout that would result in a one-handed catch from their son, merely thirteen years old, without the safety of a net. The trust and faith this kind of trick would involve, for these incredible athletes to perform this trick and rely on their child to catch one parent in each hand, astounded me. I watched the video as the parents swung on their trapeze, bright showman smiles on, swinging towards Dick. The camera panned out just as the Grayson parents were about to release into their layout. It was at that moment that the trapeze snapped away from its cable, and the parents plummeted toward the ground as the audience screamed.

I turned off the video and looked away from my monitor. It felt like I'd violated Dick's privacy; looked into his memories and ogled at the trauma therein. I cringed at the image that had burned itself on my thoughts. I flipped back to Dick's historical files, hoping to distract myself.

Obviously, I remembered the news when Bruce Wayne had adopted the orphaned acrobat. There was a clip from the press coverage attached to the file. "What inspired you to such an act of charity, Mr. Wayne?" a reporter off camera had asked him. The cameras were aimed at his mansion, positioned on his car on the drive. In the background, I could see Alfred escorting a young boy into the mansion with little more than a backpack. My features softened and I released a sympathetic sigh as I recognized the shining black hair of the boy.

"Charity?" Bruce had responded to the reporter, his typically smiling face looking offended and hurt. "Miss Tucker, this boy has just lost both of his parents in a tragic accident," he explained. "I can relate." With that, the playboy millionaire disappeared into his home, ignoring the cries of reporters.

According to the case files, it only took Dick one year to discover that Bruce was Batman. He was put in training to become Bruce's sidekick immediately, and by the time he was sixteen he was out on the streets with him as Robin. Together, they'd fought Joker, Two Face, Penguin, Bane, and countless no-name mobsters. It was a rare occasion you'd see Batman without Robin, and you never saw Robin without Batman. The pictures taken of them by civilians during various battles and fights told the story of a boy wonder growing into a man. A hazy snapshot of Batman and Robin fleeing the scene of Joker's funfair when they had stopped Bane's and Joker's armies from using it to brew toxin showed them both on the edge of a tall precipice. In the picture, Dick couldn't have been older than 20. He was still a boy in so many ways, but in that contoured red suit with the yellow cape at his back, the domino mask across his eyes…

It reminded me of the crush I'd had on him for so many years, before I'd even known who he was.

I leaned back in my seat, swiveling from side to side as I considered Dick and Red Hood and their connections. Dick was a good man. Snarky, sarcastic, slightly asshole-ish at times, but a good man nonetheless. And the news reports from Bludhaven were already rolling in, praising and condemning Nightwing just as Gotham had always done for Batman. He was doing well in his new job as a police officer, keeping his hands clean without alerting the dirty cops to his high moral values. From all that I could tell, Dick's life seemed on track. His secret life as a vigilante was a big enough secret- what could he possibly have going on to lead him to impersonate Red Hood?

"What am I missing…" I thought aloud, looking up at my dashboard of screens contemplatively.

* * *

Thursday evening, as Bruce and I suited up for a night of work, he called to me, "what's on our docket?"

Ensuring my bracers fastened appropriately to my forearms, I called back, "Croc's been on the move the last two days, both times towards Old Gotham and Penguin's territory. It's about time one of us paid him a visit, see if we can figure out what's going on."

"I'll handle that," Bruce suggested (or, more realistically, insisted).

"Great," I replied, "because I'm pretty certain Two-Face is gonna attempt another bodega tonight. I'll handle that."

"He'll send more reinforcements, after you stopped the last robbery," Bruce said, carrying his cowl to the Batcomputer monitors. "Make sure you use the detective mode on your cowl." I nodded as I approached, affixing my gadget belt around my hips. "Anything else?" he asked, typing into the screen and shuffling through our dossiers and current case files.

"Unless there's anything you want to share about the League of Shadows," I suggested. I could have shared more of my research on Red Hood, told him about my theories concerning Dick, but I didn't have anything solid to share. And I still didn't want to… Dick was as good as family to Bruce. I didn't want to make haphazard accusations when I didn't know enough myself. It would just worry Bruce and create drama, and none of us needed that.

"The League should be quiet for a few weeks," he said enigmatically. I furrowed my brow at him.

"Why's that?" I asked.

He stared plainly at the monitors a long moment, then lowered his head and put the cowl on. With his eyes still directed at the floor, he answered, "They've got enough internal problems to worry about for now." I still had no idea what he was talking about, but I decided to leave it alone. I couldn't badger him for being vague and unhelpful when I was actively withholding information about Red Hood. I put on my cowl and pulled my hair out the back. "Ready?" he asked. I nodded in the affirmative. I followed him out on my motorcycle. Ince we were on main roads, I swerved my bike around the Batmobile and jetted ahead. When I made my way downtown to a quiet edge of Bleake Island, I tucked my motorcycle away in an abandoned alcove and enabled its security. From there, I swung onto the rooftops and found a place to perch myself and watch over the bodega Two Face's men were likely to attack tonight.

It was a small shop called Bianchi's, owned by an Italian family. To the neighborhood, it was an institution; tucked into the first floor of one of the brownstone buildings with virtually no signage, it had been around for the better part of a century, passing from father to son to grandson. The current owner and operator was Mario Bianchi. Mario wasn't exactly clean; he'd lost all his money betting on dog fights. But he was in a gambling addicts group at the local YMCA, and it seemed like he was working hard to keep his son in his life after a very messy divorce. He'd made mistakes for sure, but that didn't mean he didn't deserve protection for Two-Face's goons.

I sat perched on the rooftop for two hours. I watched Mario close shop at 11pm and walk home one block away. I wondered if Two-Face's men would hit the place and steal his inventory, but I couldn't imagine Harvey being content with a haul of soft drinks and duffel bags filled with single serving pouches of various chips of the -ito family (you know, Cheetos, Fritos, Doritos, etc.). That was all Bianchi's offered, besides mediocre lunch sandwiches made fresh daily.

At 12:30, I realized that I'd probably gotten the timing off; his men weren't coming tonight. I felt like I'd wasted my time. I hit on my communication device and called to Batman.

"Batman, you copy?"

"Did you take down Two-Face's men?" he asked.

"Negative. I don't think they're coming tonight," I answered. "The shop's already closed, and I saw the owner take his deposits for the day. Even if they robbed the place, they wouldn't get anything."

"Perhaps the other bodega," he suggested.

"The one on Founder's Island? I don't know… that one's better lit, more of a cop presence since it's close to Port Adams. I thought he'd save that one for last," I speculated, but I began making my way towards the edge of the roof.

"Go ahead and check. I'm arriving in Old Gotham now, tracking some of Penguin's men. I'm going to see if they lead me to Croc," he explained. I smiled a little to myself at the update- it was nice to know what he was doing.

"Got it. Call if you need anything," I said, and the comm device silenced. I turned the communicator off as I leapt over rooftops towards Founder's Island and the final bodega Two-Face would be targeting. The bodega was on the south side of the island, near the bridges leading to Miagini Island. I was just about to round the west corner of the island when something near Port Adams caught my eye. I froze on the rooftop and looked down to see two men huddled quietly together just outside the locked down doors of the port. As they whispered to each other, the metal doors slid open silently. The two hurried through them, and the doors closed again.

Black Mask.

Though his operation had mostly vacated Central Gotham and pushed towards Old Gotham, my research had revealed that he still had some shipments flowing in and out of Port Adams. Though Batman and I had been watchful of the area, we hadn't been able to find any traces of Black Mask's shipments.

Until tonight.

Port Adams was walled off from common traffic, but there was nothing blocking the airspace access. I glided into the port and landed as softly as I could on top of one of the stacks of shipping crates. The two men lingered by the door to the port authority office, peeking through the blinds.

"It's him, right?" the man in a black beanie asked, hugging his arms tightly around his chest as his partner rapped on the door.

"Yeah, it's him, Geordie, open up!" the partner shouted at the door. Through the window, I could see the port authority officer lethargically standing and walking to the door. He opened the door and waved the two men inside, sleepily walking back to his station. He ducked beneath the counter that held the TV, and when he came back into view he was holding a worn shoebox.

A shoebox.

Not exactly a sophisticated means of doing business, but that worn shoebox was how I wasn't able to trace any records of Black Mask's business online and why we didn't find anything in the crates throughout the dock. One of the men rustled through the box while the other hugged himself tightly and chatted with the port authority. The port authority had a sidearm, but he was lethargic enough that he'd be easy to incapacitate. I couldn't see any obvious firearms on either of Black Mask's men, but I was sure they had something tucked away. That meant I needed to swoop in quickly, disarm all three, incapacitate two, and keep one aware enough for an interrogation- hopefully one that would be easily cracked. My best bet would be the shivering man that kept his arms wrapped around his chest; perhaps it wasn't the cold that made his knees wobble.

As the men were turning to leave the port authority office, I perched myself on the edge of the shipping crate in preparation to attack. But as soon as the men opened the door, before I could launch myself towards them, a flicker of color popped over the wall sequestering Port Adams. On top of the wall, a man in jeans and denim jacket, covering a red hoodie sweatshirt, stood crouched, watching them. He took one second to assess the situation then leapt down into the three of them, thrusting a kick into the port authority officer's chest and sending him flying back into his office. As he turned to the remaining two officers, I lunged off the crates and into the fray.

I'd interrogate Black Mask's men another day. Everyone was getting a KO tonight, and this Red Hood was going out of business.

The Red Hood was already attacking one of Black Mask's men when I landed on the ground behind him and kneed him in the back, sending both to the ground. I grabbed the more timid of Black Mask's men by the shoulders and kneed him in the stomach before delivering a jab then cross, and finishing him by flipping him onto his back. Red Hood had just managed to get on his feet when I turned back to face him, and he cast a projectile towards me. I leaned back in time to watch it fly past my face, through the open door, and into the body of the port authority officer who was grabbing for his gun.

Wait… was that luck, or intended?

I stared at him as he turned one last time to the Black Mask henchman who'd fallen to the ground with him, and he delivered a swift downward punch on the man's head, knocking him unconscious. They were all unconscious, I could tell from the Detective Mode in my cowl. I pulled a batarang off my belt, rearing my arm backwards in preparation to take him out.

"Stop right there, Red Hood," I ordered as he'd prepared to punch the man again. He did as I ordered, his body freezing in the cold night air. "Put your hands up. This is over," I said, slowly reaching up to my communication device to turn it on. Batman would want to hear about this.

Just as my hand floated up, Red Hood spun around and grabbed my hand holding the batarang, disabling it. I headbutted him, the impact absorbing in my cowl, but he countered by pushing me down to the ground on my back. I used his momentum to continue the roll, flipping back over him and regaining my footing. He scurried to his feet and stood in a low fighting stance. "You're not slipping away this time," I said, raising my fists for the fight ahead. He didn't answer, still hiding behind the droop of his hoodie sweatshirt. I rushed him and the combat began.

We fought like we'd choreographed it. Each jab I took, he blocked; each counter he made, I blocked. The more we fought the more I realized it had to be Dick- I had sparred with him more than anyone else, and this man knew my fighting rhythm and tempo in ways that no one else could have known. It still didn't feel like Dick, but what other explanation could there be?

I threw up a round house kick which Red Hood caught under one arm, holding my thigh tightly between his bicep and his side. With laced fingers grabbing around his neck, I lifted my other leg around him and let my weight carry him back to the ground with me, throwing him over me and to the ground. When he landed with a heavy thud and forced exhale on the ground behind me, I noticed his hood had drooped back over his ears a bit. I hurried to my feet, eager to discover his identity and both prove myself right and wrong simultaneously.

"Stop," a call came from behind me, and a panic switch flipped when I registered whose voice it was. I turned around to see Nightwing jumping down from the port authority office roof and striding over to me. I knew my eyes were big with manic confusion. If it wasn't Dick… "You're not supposed to be here," he said to me with a heavy shake of his head.

"What?" I asked incredulously. What I'd wanted to ask was, 'what the fuck is going on?' But that was too many syllables to manage at this moment.

"You're supposed to be working on Two-Face," he said, stepping past me towards Red Hood. I grabbed his bicep and forced him to turn back to face me again.

"I'm sorry- **what?** " I demanded again, feeling my face flush red with anger.

"It's cool, I'm good," a strained voice said from behind Dick. Wait… I knew that voice…

Dick lowered his gaze, almost looking disappointed, as Red Hood stood up, dusting the mud and slushy dirt from his jacket before brushing the hood off the top of his head. It revealed a scruffy mess of black hair, and the face that looked back at mine had reopened his busted lip and looked uncomfortably back at me with a forced smile.

"You can't tell Batman," Dick ordered me as I stared, stunned, into the youthful face of Jason Todd.


	14. Decisions

"Explain," I demanded of the men on the rooftop. Realizing that beside three of Black Mask's thugs and colluders wasn't the best spot to have a Bat-Family dispute, I took the shoebox that his men had come for and the three of us fled the scene, Dick aiding Jason in the escape. We'd wound up on a rooftop towards the end of the block, and that was as far as I was willing to go before getting answers.

"Look, it's not as bad as you think it is," Dick said, waving his hands in front of himself defensively.

"Then explain. Why the _fuck_ is he out here," I asked in a muted yell through gritted teeth, "in _street clothes_ , no less, and why are you with him, why are you even in _Gotham,_ for that matter…"

"Just… slow down, I'm gonna explain…"

"Well get started," I demanded.

"Batgirl, look, hey," Jason said, approaching me quickly, a raised hand halting Dick from stopping him, "he was helping me…"

"No, Jay, stop, you're just… let me handle…"

"Helping you do what?" I asked.

"Get to work," Jason answered. "You know what B's like. If I wait for him to give me the suit, I'll be thirty before he lets me help…"

"JAY. Stop, let me just…" Dick silenced him. I turned back to Dick, my mouth ajar as I pieced it all together. "Okay… look, Batman has been training him for years. _Years,_ Batgirl. And he's ready to fight, he's been ready, so… I've been getting him field experience. Nothing too dangerous, just the basics so that we can speed the process along!" His words became yells at the end as I turned away and raised a hand in frustration.

"Are you serious?! Dick, he's not even 18, he's still in school!"

"I was on the streets long before then," Dick said. "And you've fought him twice, you know he's good. Admit it: he's ready."

"It's not your call, Nightwing," I replied, fighting hard to remember to use code-names and not our real names. "It's Batman's."

"He's too afraid to make the call. We're just making it easier for him…"

"All you're doing is making it easy for Batman to be pissed at you and to ground you," I said, pointing to Nightwing and Jason in turn. "Are you kidding me with this, guys? Do you realize how dangerous this is?"

"I haven't let him get into anything he can't handle…"

"Batman _knows_ that Red Hood is back, he thinks you're impersonating an old enemy," I said, tossing my hands out at Jason. "And to just be diving into fights with Black Mask's men, with _cops_ , you realize how dangerous that is…"

"Well, hey, to be clear: I did not sign off on him attacking those cops," Dick said, pointing a lecturing hand at Jason.

"It worked, didn't it…" Jason mumbled and shrugged like the teenager he was, putting his hands in his jacket pockets.

"No, it- we are not having this discussion again right now, Jay, those cops are just gonna find a different drop point…"

"I really don't think the one with the ruptured disc will be back in action anytime soon…"

"That's not the point…"

"Are you joking?" I shouted over them both, and they silenced, turning to me. "This isn't a game," I frowned at them. "These are lives… these are _your_ lives." I shook my head as Jason shrunk into his hoodie and Dick shook his head anxiously at me. "I have to tell him."

"No!" Jason shouted at me, his eyes springing open as he looked up at me.

"No, Bar…," Dick approached me quickly, frazzled. He'd almost said my name, but stopped himself. "Batgirl," he restarted, "you can't tell him. Not yet, we're… he's so close, he's worked so hard. And we're hardly going against his wishes. Batman said he might start easing him into street work in the next year."

"And that's his choice," I nodded. "His prerogative."

"That's not fair," Jason piped up. "I can fight, I took out Joker when he couldn't _years ago_. I'm ready. He can't sit me out just because I'm young. How would you feel if he didn't let you fight because you were a _girl_?"

"Careful," I cautioned him, as if to say, ' _you're on thin ice, pal.'_ Jason tossed his arms at his side as if he were fighting some Sisyphean battle. "We play on his team, we play by his rules," I said. "That's how this works."

"Says who, Batgirl?" Dick argued. "I've been telling you from the start: he only gets to be your boss if you _let him_. You're a team, not his employee." I had to shut the voice up in the corner of my brain that said, _'technically, I'm also his employee at Wayne Tech.'_ Not relevant Barb, shut up.

"Shit, Dick, it's 1:30," Jason said, looking down at a watch on his wrist. Dick let out a heavy sigh and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Okay, look: we gotta go. He's gotta get home," Dick said. "Please, promise me you won't…"

"Oh, we're not done having this conversation. I'll meet you back at the cave," I pushed past him. I didn't even look at Jason. I felt angry, lied to… mostly, I just felt in the dark. For so long, through Bruce being thick and not sharing all his secrets with me, I thought that at least Dick was honest with me. Poor, stupid Barb. I leapt off the rooftop, heading back towards Bianchi's and my motorcycle.

I beat them both back to the Batcave. I had to believe they had some kind of coordinated escape plan out of the city, so that civilians wouldn't see some street clothed kid hopping on the back of the Nightcycle. When I pulled onto the pad of the Batcave, tucking my motorcycle into it's respective spot, Alfred rushed over to meet me.

"Batgirl. Is everything alright?" he asked.

"Fine," I said. "Batman is still in Old Gotham?"

"Yes… his tracker indicates he's in the Bowery. Why are you back so soon?" he asked. I didn't want to tell Alfred yet; I wanted to be able to yell it through with Dick more, first. I wanted Dick to be the one to fess up, not to be a snitch who tattled on them both.

"It's nothing. Tell me when Dick gets here," I said, pulling off my cowl and going to store my suit.

"Uh… why would Master Grayson be coming here…"

"He just will. And maybe you should go check in on Master Todd, make sure he's all tucked in," I insisted pulling off my chest armor.

"Ah. You've found them," he said quietly. The breath stopped in my throat as I turned incredulously back to Alfred.

"You knew?!" the biting words spat out of my mouth. Alfred kept his cool composure, as he always did. He clasped his hands in front of his chest.

"I have been assisting them, yes," he nodded. "Suit alterations and updated gadgetry take some time to prepare, Miss Gordon." I tossed my arm bracers frustratedly into the cage that held my suit.

"Great," I said. Even the butler knew. Literally everyone was lying to me. What the hell, maybe my dad knew too.

"Miss Gordon, I do believe Batman is as of yet unaware of Master Todd's…"

"I know, Alfred," I said, removing my boots and leg bracers. "You want me to lie to him, too?" Alfred quieted at that and didn't answer my question. I scoffed to myself. "Is there anyone here that isn't constantly lying?"

"No, Miss Gordon," he answered. "Including yourself." I knew my gaze had daggers in it when it hit Alfred. But before I could reply, I heard the roar of the Nightcycle as Dick arrived.

"Oh, great," I yelled over the booming presence of the bike in the cavernous hall as he parked on the main pad, where the Batmobile typically parked. "Look who's here."

"Where is Master Todd?" Alfred called down to Dick as he made his way towards me.

"I dropped him close to the mansion gates. We didn't know if Batman was coming back soon, wanted to make sure he had time to hop into bed before Bruce got back," he said as he removed his mask.

"Yeah. Wouldn't want him getting to bed too late on a school night," I barked at him. "What do you think you're _doing,_ Dick…"

"Barb, this isn't about me…"

"Of course it is, Dick, this is all about you. This is about you leaving Gotham and wanting independence, but then not knowing what to do with it. So you're back here, hijacking Jason, getting him out on the streets before he's ready, before _Batman_ is ready…"

"Jason is ready," Dick defended him, putting his mask down hard on a desk by the monitors. "You just don't want to see it, neither does Bruce. He's young, but he's an _amazing_ fighter and he's got what it takes…"

"He's a _kid_ , Jason," I grumbled back. "Most of his childhood was spent out on the streets just trying to stay alive. Now he's finally got a home and a bed and security, and you're encouraging him to get back out on the streets? He deserves to be a kid, Dick…"

"Is that how it was for you? When you were little, watching your dad get his ass kicked by dirty cops, did you 'just wanna be a kid?'" he snapped at me. My jaw clenched as he touched a nerve I didn't realize was exposed. "No, you learned how to fight back. You were helping Batman dismantle Penguin's operation from the time you were, what, twelve? Before he'd even adopted me…"

"That's different," I snapped back, remembering the Christmas Eve incident when I had hacked Batman's communication device and helped him destroy arms shipments of Penguin's before they reached criminal hands. "I was safe, I was behind a computer in a police station…"

"I'd hardly call Gotham PD safe," Dick smiled to himself.

"I wasn't out on the streets in a hoodie beating up thugs and dirty cops, Dick," I snapped back, louder.

"You know what it's like to be in this battle," Dick fired back, stepping closer to me so that our faces were only a foot apart, "to be ready to fight, and to have our hands tied. To be able to do nothing. Jason isn't gonna be benched just because he's a minor."

"It's not your choice…"

"Alright, enough," Alfred interrupted me as I'd started to speak. "This is not helping anything. Both of you: go upstairs, shower, change. And keep your voices low. Master Todd has a math test in the morning and if either of you wake him from the brief amount of sleep he gets, you'll have me to answer to." I wanted to argue, but Alfred had a spectacularly authoritative tone. I kept my lips slammed tightly together and glared back at Dick. "Miss Gordon, there is a change of clothes for you in the first guest room to the left upstairs." Upon Alfred's urging, I turned away quickly, my long red hair frizzy and filled with static as I tromped towards the elevator. Dick lingered behind me and I could hear him stripping off the exterior of his suit. I went up the elevator in silence a long moment, the rattling of the old elevator the only noise I could hear. After a short moment, I let out a loud breath of frustration.

Lie to everyone but the team, but the team is all lying to Bruce, and it's because we're all teammates, but we should still report everything to Bruce, but he's not our boss…

I was so sick of this. There were so many politics and games and lies and I didn't know what lies I should push to get the truth out of and which I should just be patient about. I felt like, no matter what I did, I was still in the dark. It made me feel stupid. It made me feel like I was the odd one out.

Once the elevator haulted, I traipsed through the study and into the main hall. I couldn't help but stomp my way up the left main staircase. I turned to the left and the first bedroom I saw had a closed door. The grandness of the mansion inspired a sudden reverence in me, and I turned the knob slowly. Of course, no one was inside. But the room was grand and bright, even in the darkness of the evening. The luxurious bed had a soft, cream colored bedframe and a golden bedspread that looked like it was used more for decoration than rest. The throw pillows of gold and contrasting royal blue stacked halfway down the bed. A grand mirror hung over the elegant Victorian dresser, with elegant beveled mirrors framing the entire façade. By the window, two royal blue sitting chairs sat tiled towards each other, inviting tenants to rest in their comfortable embrace.

"That's his parents' room," a voice behind me said. I jumped a little, and turned to see Jason at the top of the stairs behind me. He had his denim jacket and red hoodie thrown over his shoulder, hanging from his right hand. "The guest room is one more that way. There's a sitting room, then I think the room Alfred picked out for you is the one on the right," Jason explained in a lethargic voice, his eyes low and drooping. He looked tired. With that, he turned away and started trudging towards his bedroom.

"Will you get enough sleep?" I asked as I closed the door to Thomas and Martha Wayne's room, and the question stopped him in his steps. "For your math test tomorrow?"

He smiled weakly at me over his shoulder. "It's just statistics," he said with a shrug. I smiled lightly at that. "But I never sleep enough," he said, still only half turned towards me. "Would you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Dick told me…" he hesitated, considering his words. "If your dad was fighting the bad in this city every night, and you could help but he wouldn't let you… could you sleep?" he asked. He knew my answer; he knew how deeply personal and relatable this question was for me. I felt a weight drop from the top of my skull to the pit of my stomach. I didn't want to answer. "I wish you'd help us," he finally looked back at me. His eyes almost looked angry, but his voice didn't show it. His youthful face looked so tragic under his sweaty brow and bloody lip. I tried to keep the sympathy from showing on my face.

Before I could say anything, he turned away and trudged back to his room. He didn't hurry off, but I felt silenced as he shuffled down the hall and disappeared in his room. I let out a sigh, not feeling angry anymore. Just conflicted. Tumultuous. A floorboard creaked at the base of the stairs, and I turned to see Dick standing at the base of the right staircase, watching me. How much of the interaction had he seen, I wondered?

It didn't matter. I turned away and followed Jason's directions to the guest room. The next door down the hallway opened onto what Jason had described as a guest sitting room. There was a left and a right door out of it that opened into guest bedrooms; as Jason described, I took the right door.

The bedroom was longer than I expected and had six large windows situated on the far wall across from the bed, which was an all-white vision that reminded me of ads for five-star hotels. There was a beige couch at the end of the bed that faced the windows, and another longer couch in front of the windows facing the bed. A fireplace at the end of the room looked to have been decommissioned, and now held a large urn. A golden chandelier hung from the ceiling above the bed; it had clearly been an original chandelier, one that held candles before it was rehabilitated for the electronic age. At the far end of the room, another door led to what I assumed was the bathroom.

The bathroom had been remodeled more recently. Dark brown granite counters encompassed the room. It housed the sink, surrounded the petite master tub (which was large enough to hold me, if I were sitting with my knees to my chest), and covered the wall in the shower. The shower was already stocked with all my necessities to get cleaned up, including a new razor. And a clean new outfit sat ready for me on the countertop, tags still on the clothes, beside fluffy white towels.

I shook my head as I recalled Bruce's wealth. Sometimes it felt easy to forget that Bruce wasn't just my crimefighting partner; he was also one of the nation's most eligible bachelors, the golden goose prize for gold-diggers everywhere. If only they knew him like I did.

I took my shower and cleaned myself up, changing into the Under Armour sweatpants and cotton pink tee shirt that Alfred had left for me. I reminded myself that I needed to just bring a backpack of things I could store in this mansion, so that Alfred didn't feel a need to go shopping for me so constantly. I brushed through my hair and tossed it into a ponytail, then left the guest room, letting out a deep breath and preparing myself to talk to Dick.

But as I reached the top of the staircase, I found my eyes drifting towards the other side of the second floor, where Jason was sleeping. I crossed the staircases and walked down the hallway to his room. I couldn't hear any noise inside, so I tapped lightly on the wood of the door with one finger. I got no answer, but curiosity rushed through me. I turned the knob as silently as I could and opened the door the tiniest crack. Inside, Jason was sprawled out across his bed, over the comforter, wearing cotton pajama pants and a Radiohead tee shirt. His mouth was open wide in breathy snores, and his freshly washed hair lay in a wet mop on the blanket. I smiled to myself.

This was the kid that I knew Bruce wanted to protect. The kid that Bruce wanted to give a better life, wanted to give another chance to. I could understand why Bruce was delaying putting him in the field. He'd raised Dick since he was 13, watched him grow up, and watched him leave home. This was his second time raising a superhero; maybe he didn't want to let this son put himself in the line of danger again.

I closed the door softly, being sure to make as little noise as possible. I crept back down the hall towards the stairs, stopping again when I saw the light on inside of the next bedroom. It was the room I had stopped in front of the last time I was in the mansion- the room that had seemed so undisturbed, yet lived in. The light was on and the door was cracked open. I knocked quietly to see if anyone would answer, but no reply came. I tentatively pushed on the wood of the door, and gazed into the room as it opened up to me. The dark blue comforter on the bed looked cozier in the light than it had in darkness, and I realized that the boxing gloves on the trunk had tears and rips in the cushioning from overuse. The formal shoes lined by the dresser were polished, clearly not worn often. But none of that captured my attention like the poster on the wall did.

A white poster with red font and red framing advertised "the special return engagement of The Haly Circus, featuring The Flying Graysons: performing without a net!" The poster showed three red silhouettes: one of a man swinging from a trapeze, hanging from his knees with his arms outstretched after releasing the silhouette of a woman, thin and graceful as she reached to catch the hands of a boy, hanging from the trapeze from his knees and reaching for her in turn. I stared at the three red silhouettes, knowing that this had to have been Dick's room. My jaw clenched and I felt a tightness in my chest as I considered the pain it must've caused Dick to grow up with this poster, looking at it every day and seeing the family that had been taken from him. The anger he must have felt. Why did Bruce let him hang this poster in here? Why did he let him hold that loss so closely?

I looked down at the bedside table to the picture frame that sat there. I picked it up and looked closely at the family: Dick's mother stood to one side of him, his father on the other. All three stood tall with arms raised as if they'd just stuck their landings at the same time. Their bright smiles shone in the picture, and I couldn't help but smile back at the child-sized version of Dick that looked so happy and proud to be with his parents.

"We never took enough pictures," a voice shocked me from the doorway. I almost dropped the framed picture, I'd been so surprised. But I supposed it wasn't the surprise that made me jump the way I did; it was more the embarrassment at being caught looking at something I knew was not my business. "Sorry," Dick smiled from the doorway as he looked down at the floor, then cutely back up at me. He stood in dark gray pajama pants and a faded dark blue tee shirt. A fluffy white towel rested behind his neck and fell down his shoulders, and his always shining black hair, now wet from the shower, seemed to glisten in the soft light of the room. He smiled, friendly rather than flirtatious, from the doorway, and I put the picture frame back in it's place by the side of the bed.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come in," I said, taking a step forward as if to leave. But he leaned in the doorway, blocking any exit, so I held my position in the middle of the room. Silence hung in the room between us, intermingled with all the things we wanted to say to each other. We needed to sort this problem with Jason, but after seeing the images of his family I wanted to comfort him, and then there was the tense thought of being in his bedroom, the soft bedding of the bed behind me so inviting. Finally, he straightened himself in the doorway.

"Do you mind if I… close the door?" he hesitated as he stepped into the room. I felt an inhale hold in my lungs. That was a bad idea, one that could end in me doing something I shouldn't in the privacy of his room, but I also didn't want to wake Jason with our conversation.

"That's fine," I impulsively answered despite my reservations. He closed the wooden door quietly behind him and turned back towards the poster.

"You, uh… you know how they died, right?" he asked, far more casual than I'd ever expected this conversation to go. I looked back up at the poster, then to him.

"Yeah. I remember seeing it on the news," I said. He stepped past me, rubbing the towel against his forehead, and sat down on his bed.

"I can't remember the whole night all that well…" he said, leaning over his knees as he looked at the picture. "You do so many shows, they start running together. I think back now and I'm not really sure if I'm remembering that show or another," he said. Then he turned down to look at his hands between his knees. "But I remember when it happened." I felt burdened with the guilt of having seen the video, knowing what it looked like and felt like to the crowd that day. I turned to face him and crossed my arms in front of my chest as I looked down at the area rug.

"I, um… saw the video," I admitted. Silence hung over us. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know if he'd be angry. "I'm so sorry."

"When it broke," he said quietly, so quietly that even if the door had been open no one in the hall could have heard, "I was so close. Had I swung a moment later, or had the trapeze held for another second, I could have caught them." My chin lifted and I watched Dick as he stared into the rug, lost in his memories. "My mother's hand was so close, I might have… brushed her fingertips." He didn't seem to be tearing up, but I was. I held my breath as he let the visions play before his eyes. "And they fell. And I couldn't do anything about it." I finally let out a breath and made a decision. I knelt on the floor in front of Dick and put my hands on his shoulders.

"It wasn't your fault, Dick," I said clearly. I wondered if he could see the tears I felt lingering just below my eyelids. He pulled himself out of his memories and I felt him see me, really see me. His eyes stayed on mine and he nodded softly.

"I know that," he said quietly, his icy blue eyes staring back into mine. "But it's not always about fault, Barbara." When he said my name, I felt a thrill of excitement crawl up my back. I turned away quickly and stood up, worried I was losing control over myself. "It wasn't your fault Officer Branden beat your dad up," he said, and I froze in my tracks. Officer Branden had been my dad's first partner in Gotham. He'd been the orchestrator of several attacks against my dad by dirty cops, the instigator of so many of my nightmares as a child. Memories I'd tried to shut out reemerged and I felt my jaw clench. "Or your dad's. You know that, right?"

"Yes," I answered softly. Of course, I knew that. Dad was a good man. I was just a child at the time. There was nothing else he could have done and nothing I could have done.

"But if you could go back… if you could stop that from happening, if you could stop it from happening to anyone else, you would. I know you would. It's why we're doing this," he said, his voice coming to a crescendo. I turned back to face him, my guard still raised.

"Of course," I answered softly. Dick raised to his feet and stepped close to me.

"That kid… who's only a few years younger than either of us, by the way… has seen far more darkness than either of us, and he wants to make it right. Who are we to tell him he can't?" he asked.

"It doesn't… I have nothing against him fighting, I just… Bruce said he's not ready," I answered, my hands in front of my chest. "He said he's still… angry. He's still so young…"

"You're not angry?" Dick asked. And it wasn't a tease or sarcasm, but a real, pointed question. I let out an exasperated breath. "I get that he's young and sometimes brash and quick to jump into a fight," he said. "But we all were. We all want to prove ourselves, we want to prove we're worthy of fighting with Batman." He reached out and grabbed my hands, and I tried to ignore how intimate and close this was. His fingers held my hands in loose fists in front of my chest; a turn of his wrist and his fingers could have pushed between mine; eight inches closer and his lips would touch mine. "All I'm doing is helping him learn to control himself. I'm trying to show him what he can do so that when Bruce takes him out, he's more logical. More rational. More in control." I looked out the bottoms of my eyes. I understood. It didn't mean I liked it.

A simultaneous chirp from both our phones drew our attention, and our eyes got bigger as we looked at one another. It must have been Alfred: Bruce was back. He let go of my hands and we hurried downstairs to the Batcave wordlessly. We stepped into the cave just as Bruce was disrobing.

"Barbara, did you stop Two-Face's men?" Bruce asked, putting his gloves down on a table. I felt my chest lock with discomfort.

"I didn't see any signs of them," I answered, "but I did find some of Black Mask's men. They were working out of Port Adams." I went to the Batcomputer and lifted the shoebox that the men had been handling.

"Quite rudimentary for Black Mask's taste," Bruce commented as he approached, examining the box and it's contents.

"In order to evade our searches, I'm sure," I replied. Bruce nodded, putting the box down from where I'd gotten it.

"Dick, what are you doing here?" Bruce asked as he pulled off his boots.

"I'm, um, just…"

"I asked him to come," I interrupted, thinking quickly. "He helped me incapacitate Black Mask's men and inspect the area for any further… uh… shoeboxes." I couldn't help but smile a bit at Bruce. He looked seriously from me to Dick, then back at me. "Did you find Penguin and Croc?" I asked. He hesitated a long moment before answering, as if considering if he wanted to allow me to change the subject.

"Penguin, yes. But he doesn't seem to be working with Killer Croc. If Jones is operating in the Bowery, it doesn't have anything to do with Cobblepot," he said, dropping his bracers in front of the monitor and logging information in the Batcomputer. I nodded with furrowed brow.

"Interesting. Maybe I'll go next time, purely for reconnaissance. See if I can track him manually," I suggested. Bruce looked up at me, perhaps a bit dubiously, then returned to disrobing.

"Good work tonight. Let's talk more about Black Mask and your work tonight in the morning. I have a board meeting at 7," he said, starting towards the manor. "Dick, join us… since you were so kind to help out tonight," he said in a gruff tone. Dick sardonically saluted him in reply, and looked back at me with a small smile.

"Miss Gordon, perhaps you'd care to stay in the guest room tonight? I've already arranged for your alibi with your father," he said. My alibi? Oh, Colleen.

"Sure, Alfred, thank you," I said, then took a few steps closer to Dick as I heard the elevator rattle up to the mansion.

"You didn't sell us out," Dick tried to suppress a proud smile.

"Yeah," I answered with a nod to myself. "But if I'm in, then I'm in."

"What does that mean?" Dick asked, turning to me with a nervous look.

"It means I'm training him, too."


End file.
